LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


EI.4.A  Chivers,  Tl 
Conrad  and  Eud 
1834. 


XEROX 


lomas  Holley« 
ora.    Phila., 
ICU 


Jniversity  Microfilms  Library  Services 

Arbor.  Michigan  48106 


CONRAD  AND  EUDORAj 


TIIE  DEATH  OP  ALONZO. 

60-  0  -? 


IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


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DH  AMATI3  PERSONS. 


ALOW  to,  Eudora'i  tfttuctr. 

Co  W  R  A  l»,  —  U  '//<>  A'///*  ,7/0/1  TO. 
Hit  LAM  HO. 

ALFRED. 
ALVKB. 


I)  AH  HT,  fin 


KI»»AR. 

^/i  fnnJtrfprr. 


fY/i£rfur,  Uwrnl*,  Judge,  Jury,  Jailor, 
Juttitri,  Uc. 

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,  Connur»  iriff. 
K  i.  v  i  H  A  ,  /liu/tini'i  mot  fur. 
A  N  «.  ».  u  M  ,  Jlonzo'i  wife. 


02 


t: 


CONRA1?  AND  EUDORA; 

ot, 

THE   DEATH  OF  A  LOS  ZO. 


IN    FIVE    ACTS. 


ACT  X. 

SCENE  I.— FrankM.  a  ritlap  on  the  Kentucky  rfor. 
Jttonzo  and  Eudora  walking  in  tin  evening. 

ALOVIO. 

Tun  lower  world,  lay*  Shakspeare,  is  a  stage, 
Where  every  mortal  act*  a  comic  part  \ 
Who,  now  and  then,  in  Tragedies  engage, 
Which  break  up  every  fountain  of  the  heart! 
For  marriages  have  been  so  long  the  rago* 
Kach  actor  seems  to  play  it  with  an  art; 
For  common  tilings  have  never  fail'd  to  sate  us, 
Till  something  should  succeed  to  reinstate  us.  ' 

Eudora.  Your  wisdom  must  suggest,  a  married 
The  only  one  beneath  the  sun,  worth  living? 

Jthn.  Man  is  a  compound  bcin§p— made  of  l 
Love,  out  of  soul  and  body — he'a  all  love!  f 

Hut  why  the  heart  is  mortal,  and  must  go 
To  dust  again— is  not  a  work  of  mine. 

AW.  We  see  it  thus,  and  know  it  should  be  so, 
And  should  not,  for  mortality,  repine! 
But  let  our  hearts  attend  to  life's  first  cause) 
And  live  obedient  to  the  moral  laws. 
B 


t 


6  CONRAD  AND  EUDORA; 

.f Jon.  This  is  a  definite  world,  and  to  are  we, 
And  tend,  in  our  relations  to  each  other— 
Proving  that  we  arc  just  as  we  should  be — 
That  every  man  should  he  his  neighbour's  brother. 
For  all  must  meet  in  that  eternity, 
A»  children  of  the  s:imc  immortal  Father  ! 
Then,  why  not,  in  this  pleasant  world  delight' 
SinciRopir  has  su  d,  ••  whatever  is,  is  right* 
«..  Eud.    rtiat  is,  all  moral,  virtuous    cts  are  right. 
Because,  they  are  the  will  of  llruv    »  revealed— 
The  oracles  of  sacred  truth  confirm  it. 

Jtlun.  Confinn  that  which  tliey  CUM not  prove !  think  not? 
Eud.   Do  not  believe  the  oracles  of  Cod 
Agree  with  human  attribute*,  and  tend 
To  benefit  the  human  race  > 

.lion.  I  do.  (/tr/actanllt;. 

Eud.  The  mountain*,  rising  on  the  fruitful  world, 
Are  glowing  with  immensity  around  us! 
The  sun,  the  moon,  and  all  that  we  behold. 
Confirm  us  of  this  truth,  and  quite  confound  us! 

Jtlun.  Then,  why  should  we  not  live  in  joy  and  mirth' 
When  erery  blessing  we  ran  ask,  surrounds  us* 

Eud.  The  book  of  nature  rusts  upon  our  shelve*! 
And  we  forget  the  duty  owed  ourselves. 

Alun.  Al»!  telU  us  with  a  voice,  divine  as  deep, 
That  death  is  soor.  to  lull  us  all  to  sleep! 

Eud.  'Tis  right  thut  every  man  should  moralize 
Upon  those  precepts  which  pertain  to  good  ! 

.Hun.   'Ti.H  also  rifcht  he  should  not  sacrifice 
His  early  1  fe,  in  the  prorogue  of  good. 
Some,  call  their  childhood  up  with  tears! 
Because  they  let  some  precious  moment  pass. 
Ir.  manhood  thty  forget  their  passing  )  ears — 
Then  say,    Ah!   what  a  havoc  time  has  nude! 
Their  hearts  become  o'erburthenM  with  their  cares- 
Hut  such  have  dropt  their  acorns  in  the  shade! 
And  why  should  they  thus  mourn  about  their  prime' 
Because,  like  all  things,  they  were  born  to  die' 
But  time  has  nothing  more  to  do  with  blunders, 
Than  sunshine  has  to  do  with  this  world's  wonders. 
Eud.   No  human  heart  repinet  at  doing  good. 
Ji'on.  And  here  \ou  would  suggest  an  evil  thing  — 


OR,   Till;  DK.ITII  OK  ALOXZO. 

That  is   I  make  myself  my  own  man**  nun, 
lie  satiifii  d  with  self,  Ai\d  wish  no  ruore. 

AW.   Mv  plan  is  notwftftcrilcgc  the  truth. 

.7/y/i.  All  good  from^vils  come— now,  thi§  we  know. 
Were  I  to  hold  exposed,  in  both  my  lunds, 
Hoth  spotless  trutli,  ami  tnith  defiled,  which  take' 
Take  that  which  Adam  took  from  mother  F.vc! 
Hccause,  such  truths  unto  our  natures  tend. 
Man  cannot  see  beyond  an  eagle's  eve!  . 

lie  cannot  hold  the  sun,  nor  grasp  tne  moon;  * 
•'But  he  can  time  the  lion, — slay  the  lamb!" 
He  cannot  live  upon  the  air,  nor  fly; 
Rut  he  has  feelings  which  mature  in  love. 
When  things  around  in  due  relations  stand. 

f-'uri.    Tlu-  oak  may  stand  aloof  a  thousand  yearn! 
And  brave  the  whirlwind's  and  the  lightning's  blast. 
Hut,  when  it  falls,  we  shed  no  tears,  nor  weep, 
And  quite  forget  it  ever  braved  the  storm; 
Hut,  when  man  dies,  our  conscience  rears  a  tablet 
To  his  memory — that  his  name  may  live  ! 
And,  if  his  deeds  can  only  fill  the  rent, 
We  go  and  write  them  on  his  monument. 
Now,   why  all  thi*' — I'll  tell  thee  why  it  is: — 
The  end  of  law  is  not  immediate  death. 

.7Am.   Hut  look  at  this — we  grow  mature  and  old, 
While  hope's  delusions  dance  around  us  ever, 
Then  opportunity,  at  length,  takes  wing; 
And,   tir.st  we  know,  affections  grow  so  cold, 
We  hope  for  dc.ith,   that  we  nia\  live  for  ever. 

AW.    **  Whatever  is,  i«>  right" — if  Ms  not  wrong1! 

\Jinn  :n  /<//,r.<  u  /HI fur  from 
W  hat's  that  '     A  secret  I  suppose* 

•ifan.  'Tis  not; 

Hut  'tis  a  mirror  vthich  rcfKcts  my  In-art! 
There  is  a  fount  within  this  heating  breast, 
Which  ne\er  \  et  has  fell  the  storm*  of  life; 
Hut  shines  a*  limpid  an  a  mount. I'M  stream, 
That  brooklet  to  the  river  ot   my  joy — 
That  crystal  stream  of  pun  and  perfect  love. 
Which  terminates  the  utmost  of  my  hopes! 
Now,  mark!    There  is  above  all  earthly  things 
One  bright  display  of  \vi>dom  to  the  \\oild  — 


R  COMRAD  AND 

fTis  yonder  canopy  of  deathless  love! 
Like*  blue-eyed  woman  in  a  love-sick  hour! 
Whose  altitude  from  earth  distracts  the  mind, 
Which  would  be  there,  but  is  afraid  to  go. 
Now,  as  the  ocean  mirrors  forth  the  stars, 
So  does  this  paper  personate  my  heart. 
Thy  smiles  are  as  the  unclouded  stars  that  shine. 
My  heart,  within  this  vestibule  of  love, 
Is,  as  the  ocean,  pregnant  with  thy  smiles; 
'  While  my  imagination's  mingled  thoughts. 
Are  figured  frost-works  on  its  fancied  tide. 
All  life  is  circumfused  with  radiant  joy,— 
The  vessel  of  my  life  is  on  the  tide — 
The  summer  of  thy  smiles  look  fresh  and  gay— 
The  canvass  of  my  baraue  is  spread  out  wide. 
Oh  !  may  it  catch  each  fervent  sigh  of  thine — 
Then  on  the  highest  heaven  of  consolation, 
All  my  thoughts  shall  soar,  and  rest  in  heaven. 

Eud.  Then  give  it  me — perchance  it  raay  be  blest— 
Too  kind  to  be  a  brother,  and  not  kind 
Enough  to  be  a  husband— let  me  hear— 

Aloii.  How  sweet  to  trace  the  outlines  of  thy  face— 
And  drink  the  living  music  of  thy  voice  !  [Reads. 

To  fold  thee  gently  on  mv  bosom's  couch, 
And  hear  the  echoes  of  thy  faithful  sighs. 
Oh!  how  my  life  could  nurture  thee,  Kudora!  [Embrar't 
Eud.  /Tis  true,  thy  voice  is  sweet  to  human  cars,  [her. 

But  talking  lovers  are  the  falsest  of  their  race. 

They  woo  us  with  the  sunshine  of  their  thoughts 

As  lecherous  Sol  doth  woo  the  emerald  spring.    . 
m  They  make  a  world  of  spirits,  and  commune 

With  min'Htcrs,  in  other,  brighter  spheres. 

Thus  did  a  lover,  who  was  born  to  honour, 

A  youth  of  genius  and  luxurious  hopes — 

An  heir  to  all,  but  deep  and  constant  love. 

He  talked  with  lightnings  m  their  fiery  course! 

And  seemed  no  more  afraid  of  raging  storms, 

When  ocean  moaned  the  dirge*  of  the  dead! 

Than  would  a  child,  beneath  a  cooling  shade, 

To  hear  the  music  of  melodious  birds. 

He  made  the  very  thunderbolt  his  pen, 

And  with  the  ink  of  lightning,  wrote  his  song. 


t>R,   THE  DEATH  OF  ALONZO.  " 

Transfixed  liU  trident  in  the  human  heart, 
Till  admiration  turned  to  love-tick  tears' 
Hut  mark  hi*  nettled  agony  and  strife! 
Although  his  echoes  chased  him  o'er  the  ncay 
Through  ull  his  soul  ran  fiery  indignation! 
Because  lie  wanted  morals  in  h.*  heart. 
His  love,  with  anuthy,  grew  cold  and  stifl'! 
The  tenant  of  his  soul  became  an  exile! 
lie,  an  some  transient  star,  shut  out  hy  gloom. 
Through  time**  resolving  years,  went  up  to  heaven! 
Tor  men  to  look  upon,  with  ga/ing  eyes.— - 
Became  disgusted  with  life's  hahitution, 
And,  through  his  sinful  deeds,  despised  the  world. 
.Hon.   Oh!  what  a  glorious  and  exalted  thought, 
To  make  thin  vestibule  of  restive  life—- 
This ante-chamber  of 'mortality! 
Where  settled  resolutions  mould  resolves; 
A  prelude  unto  symphonies  divine! 

hud.   But  oh!  the  fairest  flower*  the  soonest  fade* 
.7/011.  And  wert  thou  born  to  die,  voluptuous  maid1 
Born  unto  manifold  distresses  here* 
A  pilgrim  wandering  through  earth's  lonely  wild* 

Oh!  that  mortality  were  infinite! 

Then,  how  my  »oul  could  Jove  and  press  thee  near! 

Thus  chained  to  one,  so  lovely  as  thou  art! 

Whv  wcrt  thou  made  from  this  bright  world  to  fTart* 
/<!«/.  To  yield  life's  being  to  a  kingdom  Irgher! 

Then,  through  God's  Paradise  shall  ring,  that  lyre— 

•I/an.   \Vhose  tones  first  taught  me  what  it  wav  to  love- 
Ob!  what  a  chain  coils  round  my  throbbing  heart! 

And,  can  such  high-born  puUes  beat  for  thre> 

Those  eyes,  which,  l.ke  a  river,  deep  and  clear!— 

Was  beauty  made  to  dwell  so  shortly  here* 

AW.   Why  do»t  ihou  manifest,  for  me,  such  care* 

'Tin  true,  1  know  iu\  self,  and  feel  my  \\orth; 

But  self-esteem  may  faun  me  into  pride. 

'Tis  strange,  such  love  should  kimllc  up  so  soon! 

'Tis  better  to  prorogue  the  spreading  Hamc, 

Than  feel,  in  after  life,  regrets  for  love! 

This  manifest  of  love,  is  like  a  star, 

Which,  as  the  da>  light  of  reflection  breaks, 

Recedes  behind  the  curtain  of  the  world; 
»  J 


10  roMUO  AM*  n  noli  \; 

And  leave*  un  trace  that  once  it  was,  b<»*  gliM>m!— 
Hut  one  wide  labyrinth  of  truckles*  space! 
Tlii*  is  the  blind  vacuity  of  fate! 
Which  fill*  the  interim' of  life'*  delight*, 
Ami  claims  a  home  in  evry  human  heart1—- 
Could  I  be  flattered,  in  my  youth,  by  wonts 
1  might  hrup  Borrow  on  my  heart  and  thine. 
Hut,  being  taught,  by  mother's  soundless  love, 
I've  weighed  mine  anchor  near  a  hotter  shore. 
The  raging  sea,  on  which  life's  harnuc  is  tost, 
May  bear  me  on,  wnere  rocks  ami  nlwals invite; 
Hut  when  I  take  a  survey  of  my  youth, 
J  have  been  blest  with  such  a  tender  mother! — J 
•i/<r>ft,   Thou  art  sole  evsene**  of  my  heingN  love* 
Kutt.  Thou  telh-st  me,  to  my  face,  I  urn  the  light 
Which  shuts  out  dark  ness  from  thy  soul, 
Itencath  \shose  he-Mr    there  shines  resplendent  ilay— • 
>\  i.hout  it,  life  is  darker  than  the  tomb! 
Ami,  oh!  I  have  hern  thinking  it  were  besti 
For,  I  have  nothing  but  m\se1f  on  earth! 
My  father  died  when  I  was  but  a  child, 
Ami  left  my  mother  and  myself  alone! — 
\  es,  1  have  one  bright  je\\  el,  white  as  snow  ! 

Wouldst  ihou  behold  it  shine* then  ope  m\  heart! 

Haise  up  the  tablet  to  my  bosom's  fount, 

And  in  its  chambers — in  my  heart**  deep  eorc,— 

The  jewel  1  cs!— more  precious  fir,  than  gold! 

l.ink'd  with  my  life,  oil  earth! — my  hopes  of  heaven! 

Matured,  it  yields  a  thousand  precious  fruits, 

Hut  needs  the  culture  of  u  tender  hand! 

Without  this  kindness,  tis  a  barren  waste! 

The  dove  will  love  but  one  fond  mate  through  life; 

And  if  u  fowler's  shot  but  lay  that  low, 

Thou  mayest,  at  noontide,  in  the  sultry  sun, 

When  wanton  zephyrs  play  around  her  wings,— 

Staml  auditor,  and  hear  her  plead  his  cause!-— 

'T would. lend  affection  to  the  hardest  heart. 

./Am.   Sweet  lady!   with  thy  deathless  charms,   oh! 
Come!  on  the  rose  bed  of  my  bosom  rest!  [»milc? 

Oh!  speak  unto  me,  that  I  may  be  thine* 
£ud.  Shine  thou  my  morning  unto  brighter  day  * 

o/i  AM  brctut* 


on,  TIIK  IHUTII  or  AI.ON/O*  11 

ifA'M.    !!'  rr,  shall  thmi  sleep,  as  on  ft  downy  much ; 
Here,  on  the  velvet  of  my  bosom  rest! 
Ami  help  my  wings  with  thine,  to  flee  away. 

A.W.  My  mother!  good  heaven*!  I  have  delayed  my  time! 
Unknown  adventure!  I  must  hir  inr  home, 
,IA>«.  Nay!  »tav,  my  love '—-then  inert,  me  on  to-morrow.— • 
»4A»fi:n  ntnnf.  [ilxcnnt  AWwfl. 

See  how  the  fulirmt  sun,  in  yonder  west, 
Doth  hhish  at  this  untimely  precedent1 
Hi  hold  him!  ho\v  he  h-ans  his  radiant  heud 
I'pon  his  hand,  and  on  eternity! 
\Vhih'  yonder  clouds,  nexvdipt,  in  heavenly  <1ye», 
I.onk  hark,  in  crimson,  on  his  heanis,  and  weep!  » 

As  if  to  l>id  jrood  h\  e  to  parting  dHV;— 
\\  hile,  through  yon  rent  appears  the  hlue  arcade, 
I. ike  hlue-i'Vi-d  \voinan  in  a  love-sick  hour! 
As  if  ihrv  rouM  transmute  earth's  sin  and  Jftiile, 
And  mould  man's  image  into  heaven  above. 
Thy  \oice  i*  soOrr  than  the  Damn  flute — 
Thy  wolds  urr  sweeter  than  AreadiaN  lute. 
I'.udora!  could  I  deem  her  of  ibis  earth, 
Perchance  I  m;-ht  he  happy  in  her  love; 
Itul,  oh!  the  foily,  and  mothinks,  the  crime, 
To  woo  an  angel  from  the  heavens  above.-— 

Entrr  Jlnsflinrt 
Sweet  Angelinc!  how  art  thou ' 

.'lni*rlinr  I  am  well. 
\Vliy  <lo  you  look  so  »ad,  Alon^o*— say1 

Jinn.   I  pray  thee  minister  in  fervent  smiles. 
Thy  MuiK-H  arc  like  the  jewels  of  the  sky, 
Transfixed  in  equal  beauty  on  the  seaj 
As  if  life*s  ocean  were  a  canopy, 
And  I,  a  pilot  to  my  homo  in  thee! 

See  love's  fond  lightnings  round  thy  temples  p!»)'»       «    . 
Like  Venus  trembling  in  unclouded  skies;— 
Which  shines  the  brightest  where  perfection  dwells* 

•?"#•  Like  hope's  fond  tall ift<nun,  thou  whisperest  joy. 

.•Hon.  Thy  breast  is  like  a  mountain  spread  with  »now, 
On  which  thy  locks,  like  angels,  skip  and  play; 
Thy  steps  make  music  like  K  trembling  lyre— 
Thine  own  |>ure  heart  the  instrument  and  strings. 

•?"£.  Which  shall  be  mute,  tillstnick  by  thy  dear  lundf. 


12  COXRAD  AND  El  D01AJ 

.f  Aw.  Oh!  give  me  but  one  atom  from  thy  lip-, 
Ami,  like  the  healing  medicine  of  old, 
'Twill  cure  the  heart  which  thou  hast  wounded  »o! 
11  ut  tell  me  thou  art  mine,  and  life  is  joy  i 
Yes,  all  my  life  shall  be  but  as  one  morn. 
Ami  that,  a  may  day ,  shining  without  clouds. 

.Ing.  Yes,  1  am  thine,  bv  yonder  heavenly  light! 

Jtlon.  A  lamb!  a  tender-hearted,  gentle  lamb! 
Had  I  this  earth— a  home  in  heaven  abovei 
And  all  the  stars  that  shine  in  yonder  sphere, 
I  would  be  poor,  without  thy  richer  self! 

•f/itf.  Like  thy  sweet  voice,  they  seem  to  whisper  joy, 
As  if  no  future  frost  might  all  destroy! 

Alon.  No;  never  shall  my  heart  forget  that  morn! 
Thou  hast  endowed  each  feeling  with  a  thought, 
Which  doth,  by  maific,  work  upon  the  heart — 
'Tis  as  a  mountain  i»ct  on  fire  by  love, 
Which  burn%  into  iU  centre,  all  unseen! 

Jngtline  *ing$.  The  sky,  by  day,  is  seen  afar, 

In  one  celestial  hue; 
Ily  night,  there  is  a  brighter  star, 

Than  all  the  rest  in  view; — 
JJut  soon,  that  sky  muy  disappear, 

That  star,  to  darkness  pass! 
And  so  may  fond  affection  near, 
Assume  the  same — ala*»! 

J/on.  1  tell  thee,  love  like  this  can  never  tire, 
lint  flags  for  moments,  to  revive  again  ; 
'Tis  that  bright  spark  which  melts  away  in' heave  n1 

Jlng.  This  heart,  is  as  a  lyre,  of  many  strings! 
And  that  which  thou  wouldst  have,  or  swei  t,  or  sour, 
The  same  is  at  thy  will,  this  day  and  hour! 

[Km  bract*  her. 

Jkm.  Is  it  that  faithfulness,  like  Noah'*  dove* 
Which  hath  no  parallel  on  land  or  sea*-- 
This  heart  retains  one  crystal  stream  as  free, 
Which  runs,  immediate,  "from  my  soul  to  thine. 

.ting.  'Tis  thine,  Alonzo, — adieu!      [Kxeunt  . 

.1lon.   Farewell! 

The  sun  is  almost  set! — she  has  not  come! 
1  sec  him  beckoning  to  the  watchful  stars, 
Which  make  the  heraldry  of  fulgent  heaven! 


OR,   THK  DEATH  OF  ALONZO.  13 

Sec  how  his  sentinels  stand  out,  to  punt, 
The  skirts  of  time,  and  diadem  old  night! 
Now,  on  the  confines  of  celcstical  space, 
They  softly  tread  the  downy  couch  of  eve, 
And  walk  in  pensile  beauty  through  the  skye! 
Trembling,  with  queenly  innocence,  to  teach 
This  lower' world  the  chastcness  of  the  heavens! 
The  sun's  red  arrows  cleave  yon  azure  brow, 
And  spend  their  influence  on  the  engirdled  earth!  [Pauset. 
KrnoBA  rtturn»  tinging. 

Come,  oh!  come  to  the  bridal  night! 

( Montis  are  gtmc,  and  the  sky  is  bright. 

Come,  oli!  come  to  the  sylvan  bower, 

Twilight  fades,  and  the  dew  drops  lowerj 

Smile,  oh!  smile,  she's  a  virtuous  shrine! 

liive  her  praise  in  a  song  divine- 
Come,  oh!  quickly  come!        c 

.lion.  Were  1  the  music  of  a  tuneful  lyre, 
To  live  in  echoes,  and  in  tones  expire! — 
To  pass  off  gently  to  a  world  of  dreams, 
Ana  die  in  melody  that  never  dies!— . 
I'd  change  existence  with  infinite  will, 
And  live  in  echoes,  and  be  music  still. —    [Embrace* Her. 
Oh!  Kudora!  thou,  dearest  to  my  heart! 
That  gentle  voice  hath  settled  in  my  thought! 
Come,  sing  again,  my  love!  and  joy  be  thine.— 

Corrc  to  the  altar,  ami  hear  her  vow !  [Si  igi. 

Kipe  and  fresh  in  her  bosom  now! 

Hear  her  tongue,  like  a  ircntle  bird, 

llreathe  her  soul  in  a  single  word! 

Sec  that  blush  on  her  smiling  checks 

Pure  and  chaste  as  the  word  she  speaks! 

Come,  oh!  quickly  come! 

Conuv  lest  the  music  die  away! 

Chaste  and  pure  as  the  dawn  of  day; 

Come,  for  the  sunset's  on  the  wane, 

Night  will  eutne  on  liis  smiles  again! 

Kveniig's  shade  o'er  the  day  isca-st! 

Mornhig'*  gone,  and  the  evening's  past; 

Now,  yc  need  not  come! 

Alan.  Oh!  joy! 

AW.  Away ! *1  luve  delayed  my  time!        (Frightened. 


14  TOKRAD  AND  CI'DOIU; 

What  will  my  mother  think  of  tluV 

Jlon.  Why  hunt  for  absent  woes  when  none  are  nigh? 
And,  if  the  will  not  let  thec  be  content, 
I  have  thy  legacy — 'twill  bring*  her  down! 

Eud.  And  wouldst  thou  huve  me  disobey  my  mother* 

Alan.  Her  love's  maternal  love,  which  ends  in  hope! 
In  welfare,  and  in  virtuous  rectitude.— 
My  love  is  not  a  mother's  love,  but  more! 
'Tis  love  that  growcth,  ai\d  keeps  pace  with  joy< 
Mark*  down  each  quiver  of  thy  lip— each  smile! 
Makes  music  of  thy  steps,  and  hears  thy  voice, 
With  rupture,  when  all  else,  on  earth,  is  still* 
But  does  man's  love  stop  here  *  no  ;  'tis  not  so! 
He  lives  within  thee,  ax  his  world  of  worlds! 
Muxt  lie  down  with  thee,  in  voluptuous  bliss, 
Must  nurture  thee  in  love,  till  life  is  o'er  ;      f 
And  wake,  to  guide  thee,  on  the  future  morn,— 
This  is  man's  love ! — this  is  my  love !— then  stay ! 

Eud.  The  sun  is  almost  set!  and  1  must  go! 

Alon.  Oh!  stay  my  love!  and  set  thy  prisoner  free! 

Eud.  The  stars  ure  gathering  now,  as  sentinels. 
The  fulgent  HUH  lies  down  in  tranquil  peace! 
Mantling  his  brow,  with  dark  pavillion'd  night, 
And,  at  the  birth-place  of  the  primal  morn, 
Shakes  hands  with  day,  and  leaves  her  in  repose. 
Tare  well!  1  must  begone!  indeed,  I  must! 

.ilun.   He  happy!  this  fond  perquisite  of  love, 
Is  not  an  argument  of  future  grief; 
Hut  cluster*  gathered  from  the  vines  of  truth, 
Which  feeds  expectancy  on  actual  joy. 
He  thou,  unto  me,  us  u  cooing  do\e, 
Which  go<:st  in  quest  of  somr  immortal  leaf  \ 
Then  come  bark  laden  to  an  ark  divine, 
And  1  will  he  the  kindest  of  the  kind. — 
Nay,  s»ay  but  one  brief  moment,  that  my  lift? 
May  not  be  darkened,  longing  for  thy  light! 
Oil!  that  1  were  a  jewel  in  thy  breast, 
That  thou  might'st  press  me  to  ihy  tender  boar*, 
And  feed  upon  the  sunshine  of  thy  smiles — 
Drink  down  the  first  born  rivers  of  thy  life  ; 
And  bathe  existence  in  thy  healthful  blood. 
Yen,  swim  about  through  all  thy  summer  vein*. 


OR,   Till:  DEATH  OP  ALON7.O.  .         15 

And  anchor  every  feeling  in  thy  soul. 

Pud.  Now,  1  must  leave  thee,  lest  my  absence  lie  re, 
Leave,  wronif  impression*  on  my  mother*!  mind. 

.f /«/i.   I  tell  thee,  say  thnu  hast  not  seen  me-* 
Tell  her  thoii  hu«,t  been  to  see  a  friend! 
And  tell  her  Frankfort  w  ill  bear  witness  to't. 

AW.   And  wilt  thou  not  return,  nnd  see  me  home* 

•7/c/ii.  'Tii  best  that  1  remain — they  may  suspect  me. 

AW.   Suspect  thee,  Alon/o*  suspect  thee,  what > 
This  speech  imports  some  foregone  thought  of  thine? 
Presumptuous  word!  thou  incubus  to  love! 
Did  mother  know  thou  wcrt  sincere,— the  cause,— 
Would  she  not  turn  her  love  to  thy  regard ' 
Yes,  doat  upon  thee  with  familiar  smiles! 
You  mint  remember,  mother's  love  in  threat! 
K'en  us  a  mount  above  a  mote  hill  Mta'idt, 
So  does  my  mother's  love  above  the  childlc**1 
Then  go,  and  she  will  be  to  thce,  a  mother! 
And  part  of  love  for  me,  bestow  ."n  thee! 

.•/'Am.   You  know  what  pains  mo  t  people  take  to  lie! 
It  gluts  a  fool  to  self-esteem,  to  thi.ik 
Himself  the  author  of  the  world's  surprise! 
Although  the  word  were  /Ktna's  red-hot  flames, 
A  sword,  with  twenty  edges,  ki  en  and  sharp  ;— 
Would  wound  his  lips  at  every  utterance! 
So,  he  could  leave  a  gash  in  other's  hearts, 
He'd  let  the  poisonous  adder  hist  and  bite! 

Hud.  Then,  1  must  be  gone!  fire  well  Alonzo! 

( Shake*  hand*. 

.linn.  Conn-  to  me  again  to-morrow,  my  love! 

J-'uit.    At  uh.it  time  to-morrow  shall  I  come* 

.'Hon.  Meet  m<  ,  my  love' — this  etc,  in  S\  Kia's  shade,— 
In  the  i  v< miij;,  at  the  hour  of  six.  [AVriiw/  A'ur/oru. 

.Hnn.   Oh!  what  a  joy  were  that  sweet  lapse  of  love, 
NVIi  rh  m:ike  life's  intrrim  a  svv'ect  delight. 
Oh*  that  my  soul  could  drink  ol'bt-r  its  til), 
And  v.tt    life's  litiigingH  with  redoubled  bliss! 
Tin-  pure  out-pounni-;-.  o(  the  draught  would  kill! 
An  1  hope  uould  v,  in;f  Hi-1,  l.ke  a  frightened  dote,— 
Like  Israel'*  pill.ir,  in  t!i<   •!>  .;d  of  iit^ht, 
Which  st -MX!  in  |M-U\«:I,  a  iieucini  to  Ilir  li-i.t.—   [ 
There  is  a  s  ciet  \\lii-jn-r  in  Ihi*  heart, 


16  CONRAD  AND  EC  DOHA? 

Called  conscience!—  'tis  my  life's  embassador! 

Whence  doth  it  come  >  —  from  heaven  ?  from  earth*  or  hell  ' 

'Tis  like  the  boit  of  Jupiter  new  hurled! 

Like  Neptune's  trident  in  my  heart  transfixed! 

It  summons,  from  the  temple  of  my  soul, 

Nature's  high  priest,—  to  mediate  (or  virtue! 

Should  I  not  heed  this  voice  >  —  what  if  I  break, 

The  link  which  binds  me  to  existence's  self? 

Oh!  Conscience!  why  wcrt  thou  given  to  torture  me? 

If  I  unweld  one  link  from  nature's  chain, 

Wherewith  I  stand  connected  unto  heaven,— 

'Twill  let  me  down  to  dark  nonentity  I—- 

To rise  no  more!  —  with  devils  damned!  —  in  chains! 

But  hark  !  the  zephyrs  waft  a  soothing-  strain, 

Methinks  tis  hers!  —  it  settles  in  my  heart! 

Till  all  life's  music  mingles  into  love  ! 


SCENE  M.—Befort  a  Tavern,  in  Frankfort. 
ALOXXO  tntcrt  and  in  ft  (3  ROLAHD. 

Poland.  Good  day,  Alonzo!  what's  the  news? 

A  Ion.  None! 

Rol.  Whv  look  so  sad?  are  you  in  love? 

.Hon.  In  love? 

Do  you  suppose  a  man  of  sense  would  love? 
Because  he  loved,  look  sad  ? 

llol.  Lord  Byron  loved  until  it  broke  his  heart! 
You'd  better  take  a  Sappho's  leap  from  Leucatc. 
Tasso,  Petrarch  —  Dante  went  mad  for  love! 
The  Poets,  all,  run  mad,  at  run-mad  love! 

Alon.  He  never  "loved  but  one,  and  that  loved  one 
Could  ne'er  be  his!" 

ttul.  1»  that  the  way  with  you* 
Frankfort  is  sleeping  'in  the  sultry  tin, 
And  nothing  now  U  going1  on!  see  here,— 
Will  you  not  legislate  for  us  again? 

Jtlon.  Is  my  election  sure  ? 

Hoi  I  think  it  is. 

Jilon.  Well,  1  will  never  offer  more! 

hoi.  Why  not? 

I  have  my  reasons,  which  you  ne'er  shall  know  ! 
You  may,  in  time,  propose  some  other  man. 


OR,    THK  DEATH  OP  ALOXZo.  IT 

/to/.  Hast  thou  not  teen  the  beautiful  Eudora? 

Mm.  Who  is  the > 

liui  Deny  it  not — you  know  we're  friends! 

[Pointtathim. 

If  you  have  seen  her  not,  the  neighbours  lie! 
Eudora,  daughter  of  Elvira. 

Jbn.  Ah> 

/to/.  Perhaps  your  Angelinc  may  love  another? 

.lion.  Perchance  she  may, — but  who  is  this  Eudora? 

/to/.  Ah!  not  know  the  beautiful  valley  maid* 
Who,  born  upon  a  rose-bed,  without  thorns, 
Is,  of  the  fairest,  fairest  one  herself! 
If  you  love  Angelinc,  love  not  Eudora! 
Love  well,  Evulora!  butnot  Angel'me!  [Stukcthiithaulder. 

.'lion.  Who  is  she,  of  whom  thou  hast  spoken  so  highly  I 

Hoi  She  is  not  rich,  but  she  is  much  the  more! 
But  mark! — I  tell  you,  not  to  give  you  pain — 
A  schoolboy  friend  of  mine  was  sick  of  love; 
But  he  is  pone — your  only  chance  is  now. 

Mun.  Where  is  he  pone  ? 

Rol.  To  Mexico! — the  sun! 
He  has  been  gone  some  time;  he  may  be  savage 
E'er  he  comes  again — you'd  better  mind  your  eye! 
He  means  to  marry  her  on  his  return. 

Jilon.  But,  I  have  all  her  legacy  in  hand — 
Yes,  1  have  seen  her — she  is  beautiful! 

7<W.  Ah  ha!  I  knew  it — saw  it  in  your  face. 
Good  luck  attend  you:  may  you  always  prosper. 


SCENE  HI — .*  sylvan  vallty,  in  the  ricitiify  oflYankfoH. 
AfOHio  enters  alone. 

There  is  the  plac«J  where  I'm  to  play  the  devil. 
What  has  become  of  conscience  ?  'tis  not  here!— 
It  haunt*  me  not— its  habitation's  changed! 
'TwaH  restive  ut  its  home,  disturhM  my  thought, 
And  K- ft  the  kingdoms  of  my  soul  at  war! 
That  nightingale,  call'd  love*,  complains  in  song — 
She  sighs  unvarying, — 'tis  one  mellow  wail! 
But  hark!  the  lark  unlocks  the  gate  of  morn, 
And  lo!  its  levee  lowers  clown  dark  clouds! — 

C 


1$  CONRAD  AND  Kl'OOU  \| 

My  galliot  now  is  on  the  raging  sea, 

And  with  my  pampered  self  I'll  while  the  hours,— 

At  if,  Arabia,  o'er  Kutopia'a  isle, 

Sent  fragrance,  floating  on  the  wanton  winds.     [/*» 

Proud  man!  what  art  thou  hut  a  tender  flower! 

The  blooming  pageant  of  a  passing*  hour ! 

To-day,  a  legatee  of  doubts  and  fears, 

For  fear  to-morrow  may  be  spent  in  tears! 

A  dying  echo  on  a  trembling  lyre— 

A  living  spirit,  loathing  to  expire! 

A  wounded  bird,  denied  an  angel's  wings! 

A  harp  immortal,  with  ten  thousand  strings! 

A  rapturous  element  of  living  streams,— 

A  day  of  visions,  and  a  night  of  dreams! 

A  sword  suspended  on  a  wall  to  rust, 

A  soul  immortal,  in  a  heart  of  dust! — 

If  all  thou  hast,  and  canst  attain,  is  nought, 

And  buried  are  thine  elements  of  thought ? 

And  thus  it  is,  we  live  and  die  on  earth, 

But  without  woman,  what  are  mortals  worth? 

A  grain  of  sand  upon  a  dcsarl  shore, 

Which  meets  the  tide,  and  then,  is  seen  no  more! 

Some  gentle  hand  must  first  attune  the  lyre, 

Then  cun  the  soul  impart  celestial  fire! 

'Tis  but  an  instrument  of  many  strings! 

An  ocean,  watered  from  a  thousand  springs! 

A  paradise,  where  fond  affections  grow, 

If  nursed  by  women, —but  if  not,— 'tis  wo!  [Pt 

The  morning  sun  knows  not,  when  he  doth  rise, 

That  clouds  portend,  to  darken  him  at  noon! 

The  damask  down  pours  in,  with  radiant  joy, 

And  so  docs  she,  with  all  her  hopes,  shine  bright. 

What's  this* — my  conscience  has  come  back  again! 

Man!  wilt  thou  tread  upon  that  sacred  thing * 

Mould,  with  thy  lust,  such  ugliness  and  criof  > 

And  lop  the  tender  roses  in  their  bloom' — 

KrnoRA  cntfrs. 

I  may  relent  me  yet,  and  make  her  mine! 
AW.   Kclcnt,  Alonzo?  am  I  not  thine  own* 
•Won.  What  nr.dst  thy  mother,  on  thy  brief  return? 


OK,  Til  P  DKATII  OF  ALON/.o.  10 

AW.  She  questioned  me  about  my  stay  from  home, 
And  told  me,  I  had  better  mind — talce  care! 

Jllon.  Take  care  of  what*  to  shun  my  cornpanrf 

AW.  Not  keen  these  shining1  words  of  virtue  bright. 

Jllon.  Let  me  kiss  the  nectar  from  thy  tender  lip*,; 
We  must  go  on— no  chance  can  turn  us  back— 

F.ud.  You  alarm  me,  Alonzo!  am  I  thine >  *   ._ 

Mon.  \  cannot  swallow  down  thy  mother's  words!    \» 
I  long  to  he  where  I  hate  never  been,— 
And  Ions;  to  see  what  I  have  never  seen — 

Eud.  \  must  return  again.  [TfcAret  her  hand. 

Mercy,  Alonzo!  [Fall*  on  one  knee. 

.Hon.   Etidora!  art  thou  not  that  living  light, 
Which  shuts  out  chaos  from  my  soul ' 
Thou  shalt  not  go! — I  have  thee  to  myself. 

End.  Be  thou,  unto  me,  as  a  branching  tree, 
And  I,  beneath  thee  as  a  feeble  lamb! 
Oh!  if  the  winds  blow  fierce,  do,  hush  the  storm! 

.lion.  Rise! — thy  mother  wish'd  to  win  thee  from  me! 

Eud.  Why  dost  thou  speak  so  harsh!  my  mother  loves 
thee! 

Alan.  Loves  me }  'tis  no  such  tiling! — there,  say  no  more! 
No;  'tis  too  late!  I'd  rather  be  a  slave, 
And  plough  your  mother's  land,  than  be  the  man 
I  am,  and  bear  her  private  scorn! — 'tis  true! — 
To  have  her  cloud  the  daylight  of  my  life! 
And  drop  into  love's  chalice,  »vormwood — gall! 
Which  no  Cunathus  ever  wash'd  away! 
'Didst  thou  not  feel  a  throbbing*  at  thy  heart, 
When  she  advis'd  thee  to  beware  of  me* 
I'll  be  rcvcng'd—  I'll  bear  no  woman's  scorn! 

AW.   Oh!   Alon/o!  she  is  kind  to  thee! 

.1lun.   Kind' 

Persuade  me  black  is  white — there,  say  no  more! 
Were  yonder  rocky  mountains  massive  gold, 
Could  1  recall  those  words,  I'd  give  them  freely!— 
Oh!  Eudora!  th»u  hast  beguil'd  my  thought! 
(Jo— get  thee — meet  me  on  to  morrow  eve, — 
That  I  may  banquet  on  thy  beauteous  charms. 

AW.   What  dost  thou  mean,  Alon/o1  art  thou  mad* 
Open  thy  wanton  breast,  and  let  in  virtue! 
Unlock  the  chambers  of  thy  soul,  and  let 


20  CONRAD  AND  EI  DOHA; 

In  prudence,  let  in  sacred  honour  —  trust! 

Wouldst  thoti  betray  the  trust  repoa'd  in  thee, 

For  that  te  Vantage  which  thou  hast  in  hand! 

Heap  dust  and  ashes  on  my  mauler's  head? 

And  drive  me,  loathsome,  from  myself  and  heaven? 

Say,  no,  Alotuo!  and  1  still  am  happy. 
jtton.  Knowest  thou  the  ordinances  of  my  love  > 

Then  hear  maternal  puling-  never  more  ! 

End.  What!  despise  my  mother?  I  must  be  gone* 
Jllon.  Begone  *—  where  to?—  I  say  thou  shalt  not  go! 

This  arm  and  hand  protect  thee!—  -thou  must  go! 

I  tell  thee,  by  this  heart,  that  loves  thee  well, 

My  soul  is  kindled  into  rapturous  flight! 

Here,  I  have  a  jewel  —  wear  it  near  thy  heart, 


Recount  the  happy  days  and  hours  we  spent, 

Wlu'ch  none  have  reahz'd  like  1  and  thou; 

For  which  no  substitute  was  ever  found, 

When  ev'ry  whisper  was  a  vow  of  truth. 

Go,  meet  me  on  uiis  very  eve—  farewell!  [Exit  EUUOIA. 

The  sky  above  me  is  Italian  blue,  [Alone. 

As  day  leans  westward  to  enchanted  night| 

Which  looks  on  man's  creation  with  a  love, 

As  deep,  as  from  this  earth  to  heaven  on  high. 

While  1  am  here,  in  love's  lascivious  garb, 

Betraying  truth,  and  feeding  lust  on  virtue!—  I 

The  which,  to  think  on,  makes  me  loathe  myself, 

And  hate  the  birth  which  made  me  such  a  fool! 

Oh!  Angeline!  my  love!  and  if  my  tears 

Were  tests  of  my  affection,  call  me  kind!  — 

They  flow  as  if  1  had  ten  thousand  thorns, 

To  root  from  out  a  long  detracted  heart!  —          [  If  >t/u. 

What  talc  is  this,  to  woo  me  from  my  joys? 

By  heavens!  I'd  loose  my  life  —  Kudora's  mine!       [Exit. 


SCKNK  III.— Kentucky  IHvcr. 
Enter  Uu.iTi.ii,  with  Guru  and  Game. 

Pint  /fun.  Did  you  not  see  a  ladyc  in  the  grove? 
Stcvnd  Hun.  1  saw  a  female  form,  adorn' J  in  white. 


OB)  THE  DEATH  OF  AtOftlO*  21 

With  trtsses  all  dishevel'd  on  her  neck, 
Who  held  within  her  hand,  a  scarf  as  fair. 

t\r*t  Hun.  Did  you  not  see  a  gentleman  past  by?     • 
Who  follow'd  down  the  sombre  vale,  in  haste? 
M'hat  can  that  mean?  she  seem'd  to  loathe  his  tight! 
He  overtook  her,  and  she  sat  her  down, 
And  sccm'd  as  if  distracted  with  some  thought! 

Second  Hun.  By  heavens!  they  walk'd  far  o'er  the  dis- 
tant hi  11! 

'Tis  strange!  their  actions  speak  too  much,  for  right! 
Perhaps  she  is  an  orphan  in  distress! 
You  may  depend — its  no  concern  of  ours. 

/Yr«/ 1  Inn.  Come,  let  us  drink,  and  take  to  rest  awhile. 

Second  Hun.  No;  let  us  to  the  village--  I'twil  soon  be  dark. 

First  Hun.  The  moon  will  shine — how  will  you  vote* 

Second  Hun.  Well,  I'll  give  Alonzo  my  vote, — I  think. 

Fint  Hun  .Oh,  no!  he  has  resign'd — 'tis  now,  too  late. 

Second  Hun.  Ah!  well,  1  do  not  care — come,  take  a 
drinki —  [Or  in  fa. 

Now,  let's  go  on,  we'll  reach  the  village  soon. 

Fint  Hun.  'Tis  strange  Alonzo  should  resign* 

Second  Hun.  It  is—  [Exeunt  tmnet. 

A  LOI  zo  enter s t  with  doivncant  k*>k*t  at  if  tome  mitfortunt 

had  befallen  him. 

•lion.  My  very  heartstrings  into  terror  burst,—- 
Tuned  o*er  the  highekt  pitch  of  agony! 
While  nature,  striving  to  undo  her  deeds, 
Doth  flutter,  like  a  wounded  bird,  in  dust! 
Kach  life  p««!,e  of  tins  heart,  new  caged,  expands, 
And  !»trikei  my  splintered  ribs,  to  mangle  more! 
Kach  crimson  fetring,  by  slow  degrees,  crack  loose, 
And  burn  my  cheek*  with  everlasting  fehame! 
While  fiery  blood  leap*  through  my  burning  \  cm*, 
And  washes  down  my  heart,  to  \vaxte  my  life. 
The  past  in  happiness  is  gone  forevt  r, 
And  lend*  the  present  only  .Ucrner  grief! 
We  onlv  feel  the  jo)*  we  now  enjoy  j 
And  fail  to  keep  the  joys  we  have  enjoy'd! 
Look,  now,  through  memory's  darkened 
Into  the  gulf  of  unrequited  grief! — 
My  poor  Kudora! — with  tlivsjf,  alone* 


22  CONRAD  AND  1:1  DOR  v; 

Now  stretch,  damned  hcartstring,  till  you  break!— 

Hreak  up  life's  anguish,  deeper  titan  the  sea! 

My  poor  Kudora!— She  is  left  alone!— 

Now,  my  conscience  tells  me,  marry  her — No! 

ftv  heavens!— I  must  be  there! — I  must  be  there!— 

Klse  some  vile  wretch  seduce  her  back  again. 

I  will  not  irp— lest  she  run  mad  with  grief! 

Oh!   Angt-line!—  this  night,  1  wed  with  thee,— 

Then  heap,  Olympic  woes  on  hills  of  grief! 

Oh!  my  heart!     1  wish  it  could  be  so— 

How  can  Kudora  be  my  wife4— she  can't! 

These  tears  arc  from  the  gulfs  of  human  wo! 

This  wound — this  punctur'd  wound!  can  never  heal, 

Hy  all  the  sundry  on  earth— 'tis  done! 

And  here!— the  vessel  which  once  held  my  tears, 

[St'nkct  hu  heart. 

ts  one  eternal  flaw, — one  fractur'd  wreck!— 
And  ever)'  crack  is  leaking  out  my  life! 
Let  nature  reinstate  herself  again. — 
"What's  this*  another  heart  string  on  the  stretch*— 
Hurst,  foul  offender!  burst!  and  let  me  rest! 
Let  life  run  into  all  her  brief  extremes, 
And  n-.iture  feed  on  settled  agony! — 
Now,  dash  remembrance  from  my  restive  soul, 
And  live  upon  for^tfulness!— make  hope 
Lil's  bitterness  console,  and  kill  the  past! 
Feed  on  my  heart  at  once!  then,  gorge  thyaclf ! 
Tear— drag — rend  humanity  in  twain! 
Thou  vile-anointed,  hell-deserving  wretch!—  . 
Now,  like  an  infant,  tir'd  of  its  dull  nurse, 
Grow  peevish  of  existence,  and  the  world! 
Live!— die  incessantly,  for  one  lone  hand, 
And  that  borne  from  me,  n*  u  mountain  curse 
To  poor  Kudora! — take  that  thought  away! 
Oh!  for  a  sea  to  drown  this  living  fire!  — 
Sicr.c  on  him,  terror!     Vengeance!  take  revenue! 
Pursue  the  villain  throughout  all  the  earth,— 
\V  hat's  this*  conscience'  death!  Satin!  wrath  and  hell! 
My  head!  my  heart!  my  s»oul! — the  world  is  on  me! — 

[Hushc*  out. 

I*B  OF  ACT  I. 


OR,  Till:  DEATH  OF  ALOXZO.  23 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.—  ,f  Cottage  in  the  Country,  near  which,  Rr- 

A  a»i//  KI.VIMA,  hermothfr,  ore  sitting  —  u-A-i/r,  Eui»«- 
in  a  melancholy  mood,  complains  of  her  tniifortuncf, 


Kc  bon  A  n*«  a/i</  waft*. 
Mother!  we  have  no  pleasure  in  this  world! 
Name  blighted  —  hopes  destroy  M—  left  alone!— 

JE/i».  Have  I  not  lovM  thce,  with  the  purest  love  > 
l.ook'd  on  thce,  when  thou  wast  a  child,  all  night  >—-     . 
And,  when  Uie  damask  dawn  of  orient  morn 
Walk'd  in  my  wicket,  found  me  by  thee  still  I—- 
He found  me  there,  by  thee!—  Oh!  what  a  curse!— 
From  day  to  day  —  from  year  to  year,  —  these  hands 
Have  nurs'd  the'e,  child!—  and,  from  these  lacteal  springs 
Have  I,  at  midnight,  fed  thec,—  -  half  asleep! 
And  why  didst  thou  deny  me  joy  in  a,;e>— 
As  some  bright  star,  above  the  rest  hath  shone, 
The  queen  of  all  the  radiant  perns  of  heaven}  — 
Then  shut,  from  tranquil  light,  to  utter  gloom! 
So  docs  the  night  of  grief  crane  thy  beams! 
M'here  shall  we  go,  for  recompense*—  Oh!  God!— 
There  is  no  resting  place-  beneath  the  tmn! 
There  is  the  cottage  where  her  mother  lives.  [Point*  at  if* 

AW.  C)!i!  she  is  full  of  tenderness  and  love. 

Eh.  I  would  that  I  were  drad  and  in  my  grave! 
To  die,  and  leave  thec  in  the  villain's  hands'  [Indignant. 
That  foul  apostate,  rebel,  truilor,  wretch!— 
lie,  who  hath  ruin'd  my  child,  and  broke  this  heart! 
No;  had  I  power,  these  old,  decrepit  hands, 
Should  make  each  second  of  his  dying  life, 
A  thousand  years  of  misery!     Oh!  thou  man!— 
Could  I  but  ope  the  windows  of  thy  heart,  * 

I'd  shut  a  lion  in,  to  trar  't  in  pieces! 
Yes,  open  ev'ry  vein  thut  feeds  thv  heart, 
Anil  fill  each  empty  tube  with  inoften  lead, 
And  hang  thee  up,  and  mock  thce  day  and  night!— 
'Till  thou  had'st  grown  so  old  in  ugliness 


34  CONRAD  AMI  Kt 

That  ry'ry  fowl  that  soar*  in  air,  should  «rrr  am, 

And  cv'ry  wolf  stand  howling  at  thy  come!          [ If  */>*. 
/Turf.  That  I  had  died  when  I  was  but  a  child! 

That  I  had  never  seen  the  light  of  day! 

Ho,  who,  was  as  the  pulses  of  my  heart, 

Ho,  who  clung1  round  me,  hut  deform'd  me  thiu! 

And,  with  the  lying  lips  of  wanton  hist, 

Itctray'd  me  unto  bitterness  and  shame!— 

He,  who  once  held  me  to  his  beating  heart, 

And  bude  me  hoar  the  whispers  of  its  love, 

And  mark  the  fervor  of  his  soul! — now  gone* 

He— he,  to  chain  me  with  a  chain  of  lead!  [Disdainfully. 

Oh!  for  a  healing  Marah  for  this  thirst! 

He,  lure  me  to  his  arms,  then  crush  my  heart >— • 

Hut  let  me  not  upbraid  him! — he  was  kind! 

An  udder! — till  I  fluttered  in  his  jawi. 

Shall  1  forgive  him>     Thereby  swear  my  guilt*— . 

Not  while  this  heart  maintains  my  eagle  thought. 

Not  while  this  hand  can  move  a  single  joint. 

Not  while  these  eyes  can  see— these  feet  can  walk. 

Not  while  the  sun  svakos  up  at  morn — by  heavens! 

Not  while  he  shines,  and  sits  upon  yon  sea! 

I  live  to  view  the  mirror  of  his  blood,          [DUdainfutly. 

Reflect  the  deep  damnation  of  his  deeds! 

And  make  seduction  stare  me  in  Uic  face* 

No;  if  there  be  no  hand,  so  good,  on  earth, 

As  to  absolve  me  of  this  cursed  crime!— 

If  there  be  none  on  earth,  so  kind,  as  true,— 

To  shut  the  villain  in  a  new  dug  grave! 

And  rid  the  air,  in  which  I  live,  of  bane— 

By  truth,  and  that  which  I  have  lost,  I'll  drcsi 

Me  in  an  Indian's  garb,  and  paint  me  red, 

The  quiver'd  angel  of  revengeful  wrath— 

And  hunt  him,  like  Diana,  with  a  spear, 

And  wake  the  stings  of  his  ingratitude! 

To  stifle  this  proud  soul  with  such  an  *ir,— 

When,  in  this  rich  apothecary,  lives 

An  antidote,  to  purge  him  from  the  world! 

/.Vr .   Repine  no  more,  F.udora! — all  is  vain!— 
End.  He,  once  the  **applc  of  mine  eye,"  emit  off! 

If  it  offend  thee,  pluck  it  out!—  it  does! 

My  noonday  sun  is  dark  with  lowering  clouds! 


OK,  TIIK  DEATH  OF  AtOXXO.  *J5 

And  that  meridian  splendor,  once  to  bright, 

I.ICH  folded  in  the  funeral  of  disdain! 

Now  tliis  dark  garb  of  widowhood,  shut H  out 

The  Munnhine  which  made  virtue  day,  and  chills 

The  healthy  merriment  of  youthful  blood!— 

liars  up  the  door  which  open*  on  my  soul!— 

Shuts  love  within  the  dungeon  of  my  brain, 

And  makes  a  culprit  of  my  cv'ry  thought! 

Turn*  out  the  tenant  of  my  bosom'd  sirr, 

To  play  upon  the  winds!— that  ever)'  car 

May  drink  the  sound— that  cv'ry  tongue  may  blast, 

Tlu-  roses  which  once  paradi&'d  my  soul! 

Oh!  living  death!  why  taunt  me  with  thy  woes'— 

A'/r.  An!  why  complain,  when  thou  art  half  to  blame? 

Eud.  Oh!  mother;  wound  me  not— I  tell  thcc  now— 
What'  he!  the  Milo  swore  he'd  take  my  life!— 
Aiul  then,  upon  the  curse,  shed  woman's  tears! 
And  bade  me,  with  a  sigh,  not  break  his  heart! 
And  spoke  of  business  which  prorogued  the  time- 
Till,  like  the  sequence  of  an  earthquake  shock, 
That  lingering  silence  which  succeed*  the  storm ; 
Aghast  1  stood!  and  begged  him  peace  once  more! 
But,  with  the  fury  of  a  gorgon,  rushed, 
And  clasp'd  me  in  his  arms, — still  threatening  death! 
And,  though,  with  purpose  bent,  1  still  had  hopes!  [  Wttp*. 

Elvira.  Oh!  how  could  nature  look  upon  such  things! 

JiWttjH. 

AW.  The  wrath  of  heaven  doth  not  chastise  like  men, 
Hut  lingers  in  infringement,  giving  pain.  [Wcepg. 

Elvira.  Oil!  Kudora!  Kudora! — why  weep  now? 
Why  choose  this  bright  congenial  day,  to  turn 
Thy  heart  strings  into  discord!  and,  break  down 
The  channel  of  life's  precious  stream!  and  melt 
The  current  of  existence  into  tears' — 
Though  heaven's  decree  has  been  delayed,  my  child! 
At  last,  his  death  will  yield  thee  richer  (rifts! 

Eud.  I  tell  thee,  mother!  though  thou  k  no  west  me  well! 
And  brought'st  me  upward  from  a  child,  with  care! 
Thou  know'st  me  not!  I'm  strange  to  thce,  for  all! 
1  tell  thee,  and  the  lamps,  which  burn  in  heaven, 
Rear  witness  that  my  words  have  all  gone  forth! 
And  oan  no  more  return  than  could  a  ball 


26  CONRAD  AND  EUDOBA 

Shot  from  the  cannon's  mouth— -I  tell  thee  now ' 
And  mark  me!  mv  young-  heart  is  not  forsworn- 
No;  'tis  as  pure,  in  its  intent,  as  snow! 
I  would  not  harm  the  simplest  thing1  on  earth! 
As  loathe  to  scorn,  as  fierce  to  insult  given! 
Hut,  when  despite  is  on  my  nature  thrown, 
I  swear,  'tis  harder  far  than  adamant! 
And  now,  for  all  I  hore  him,  in  thin  world! 
For  every  moment  that  I  saw  his  face, 
If  health  survive,  and  only  life  shall  last, — 
For  all  the  smiles  which  won  me  to  belief,— 
Shall  fourfold  years,  and  endless  hate  be  g-iven! 
And  this  wide  heart,  so  full,  it  fain  would  burst— 
This  fountain,  which  is  si. red  to  bitter  wrath, 
Which  that  insatiate  wretch  so  rudely  stung1, 
And  wounded  with  the  arrows  of  his  lust!— • 
Shall  turn  an  August  to  his  life,  and  thirst 
For  every  drop  that  palpitates  his  heart!— 
1  tell  thee,  here  are  settled  resolutions! 
For,  agony  now  slumbers  in  resolve. 
I'd  pray  to  heaven  for  fifty  live-long^  years, 
And  travel  through  the  world,  to  take  his  life! 

Etc.  Oh!  my  child!  my  child!  thou  art  run  mail! 

AW.  Mad! 

Thou  know'st  I  have  enough  to  make  me  mad! 
To  burn  up  every  atom  of  my  blood; 
And  freeze  the  pulse*  of  my  heart  to  death! 
But  'tis  not  so!  perhaps  I  might  go  mad, 
Had  I  a  soul  a*  little  us  myself; 
And  had  no  other  way  to  vciit  my  wrath, 
Than  through  these  weeping-  windows,  which  you  see! 
Which,  every  moment,  tclU  me,  that  1  breathe 
The  same  fresh  air,  in  which  a  traitor  lives! 
I  lad  !  no  other  door  to  enter  heaven, 
Than  through  these  narrow  straiU  and  locks,  which  shoal 
Existence — then,  my  heart  might  weep!  but,  mark! 
For  such  a  little  heart,  there  never  lived 
Beneath  God's  heaven,  a  nobler,  larger  soul! 
The  mountains'  heights  arc  ascertained!  the  seas 
Arc  fathomed,  and  the  ocean's  depths  are  known! 
The  heavens  arc  fettered  by  material  apace!— 
Revenge  in  woman  hath  no  limitations! 


OK,  Till!  DKVIII  OP  ALOMO.  .27 

•Tis  measure  less!  and  never  had  a  shore! 

Thou  know'st  a  woman'*  love?  how  deep!  how  strong! 

Then  weigh  it  in  the  scales  of  heaven,  and  weep! 

Elv.   My  child!  tiiou  art  beside  thyself!  'tis  vain! 
1  have  foregone  these  many  things  for  thce! 
And  here,  I  find  thec  railing  out  in  wrath, 
A§  if  thou  couldst  allay  the  temptest-stormi 
And  grasp  the  whirlwinds  in  thy  hands—  let's  go! 

[Start  »  away. 

Eud.  \  know  one  tempest  I  can  still,  too  well! 
And  such  a  wreck  shall  never  shame  this  world! 
The  chronicles  of  life  are  sealed  bv  death  \ 
And  on  the  outskirts  of  the  eternal  hills, 
Stands  bold  revenge  to  confiscate  his  soul! 

Elv.  Thou,  Eudora!  do  all  this?  who  aids  thee* 

End.  Mother!  1  love  thee  —  teach  me  not  to  hate! 

Klv.  Thou  art  distracted—  oh  !  that  I  were  dead! 


End.  Weep  not,  my  mother!  1  will  soothe  thine  age! 
Could  I  retrace  the  current  of  my  years, 
Rack  to  the  fountain  of  my  early  hopes, 
How  I  could  smile  before  thee!  —  with  a  heart 
As  buoyant  as  a  fuwn  on  Judah'*  hills!  — 
No  mortal  man  shall  know  that  day  und  hour, 
"When  these  poor  haiuU  shall  chase  life's  cloud  away, 
And  from  the  sky  of  life,  that  curtain  draw, 
A  nd  hurl  a  traitor  from  his  domil  throne! 
Then  will  the  sunshine  of  meridian  day, 
licamon  the  bright  Hesperian  fruit  of  gold; 
Break  through  the  ha/.e  of  disappointment's  morn, 
And  light  me  and  my  mother  home  to  heaven! 

Elv.  O!  heaven  grant  that  hour  could  come. 

End.  'Twill  come! 

Elv.   Come  —  let  us  take  us  to  our  lonely  home. 

End.   Hark!  1  hear  the  cooing*  of  a  matelc*s  dove!— 
'Tin  so  much  like  the  voice  I  heard  that  day! 
It  sings  so  mellow,  with  harmonious  pain! 
Her  music  dwell*  within  me,  a*  a  song, 
Through  visions  purified  —  and  oh!  the  grove! 
llright  gems  of  love!  —  what  spirits  (ill  mine  eyes* 
Oh!  what  a  reason  wus  such  perfect  love! 
In  early  childhood,  where  my  spirit  met 
Its  ministers  of  pence!—  to  wrt^tc  :»nd  melt 


28  CONRAD  AND  Kl'DOR  \; 

Like  snow  in  sunshine  >  shall  it  be  to  now?— 

M  v  heart-strings  bursting  with  untamed  regret- 

All  circum  fused  with  tears!  —  no;  hope  U  strong! 

The  chains  which  bound  my  life  are  twain, 

And  mildew  rusts  them,  from  his  cadent  tears!— 

And  now,  all  trembling-,  like  a  stormy  oak, 

Shaken  on  high,  by  some  unfriendly  wind, 

I  see  his  iron  heart-  strings  burst  and  bleed! 

And  cry  unsolaced  to  his  tortured  mind! 

Mark!  this  hand  shall  do  't,  and  this  heart  shall  guide. 

Eh.  What  will  become  of  Angeline,  his  wife* 

[Disdainfully. 
But  she  hath  done  no  wrong!  upbraid  her  not. 

Eud.  I  would  not  waste  the  offspring  of  my  thoughts, 
To  name  her  name!—  she  was  that  golden  gate, 
"Which  shut  my  entrance  out  of  happiness! 
No!  no!  —  who  could  be  happy  with  a  traitor? 
No  one!  —  not  e'en  an  angel  out  of  heaven! 

Eh.  Let  us  home,  my  child!  he  loves  her. 

Eud.  He  love? 

And  enemy  to  virtue,  love  >—  tell  me 
That  heaven  is  hell!  —  that  he  will  go  to  heaven! 
1  tell  thcc,  now,  I  have  u  daring  soul! 
Feeble  in  body  —  yet,  in  mind,  a  lion! 
Then  say  no  more  —  talk  not  of  Angeline! 
Methinks  1  sec  him  sitting  by  her  side, 
As  he  disported  one?,  with  me  —  telling  lies! 

Eh.  His  children  will  be  taught  their  father's  language. 

Eud.  His  children!  —  heavens!  my  child!  my  child!  my 
child!  [Exeunt  Eudvra  and  Elvira. 


SCKNE  U.—  Frankfort:  in  the  vie!  nil  y  of  irAiV/i,  Conrad 
meets  Alfred,  his  friend. 

Alfred.  Good  morning,  my  noble  friend  —  any  news? 

Con.  Nothing  worth  the  question. 

Jlf.  Ah!  nothing? 

You  have  been  absent  for  a  long  t'r.nc  past* 
No  news'  and  just  from  Mexico*  'Us  strange! 

Con.  Ah!  u*  to  that,  1  have  some  sort  of  news. 

Alf.  \Vhat  did  you  sec,  worth  naming  to  a  friend* 
I  saw  still  born  liberty  sv/st'ncd  in  gold! 


OR,  THE  DEATH  OF  ALONIO.  2& 

I 

Saw  l.uman  laws  made  highways  into  crime! 
Saw  avarice  debasing  human  nature! 
And  cut  the  throat  of  a  cut-throat,  because 
He  insulted  a  lady  in  my  sight! 

Jllf.  Hy  heavens!  worse  and  worse!  them  art  the  man! 
Thou  art  the  man,  for  me ! — when  we  were  boys, 
I  recollect,  you  used  to  take  the  field. 

Con.  Ay — as  to  that,  those  days  are  past  and  gone! 

jilf.  Itv  truth!  I  thought  there  was  no  crime  on  earth, 
Could  match  that  villain's! 

Con.  Whut  do  you  mean* 

.ilf.  Have  you  not  heard  the  wide  report  abroad? 
If  'tis  not  so,* then  scandal's  fast  asleep, 
And  rumor,  with  her  snaky  tongue,  has  found 
Some  confine  in  the  earth,  and  buried  envy!  .  •-* 

When  man  sets  fire  :he  lips  of  hell,  and  makes 
Hlack  passion  stare  /oung-  virtue  in  the  face,— 
Then  nx  a  pivot  in  thy  heart  for  doubt 
To  turn  on!  Didst  tho'u  know  Alonzo? 

Con.  Know  him> 
Why,  Alfred!  I  know  him  better  than  thyself. 

Alf.  Did  you  not  know  he  loved  Eudora? 

COH.  No. 
I  think  not — never  did  there  live  a  sweeter. 

Jllf.  Why  >  how > — who  was  she >  whai  is  she> 

Con.  A  maid— 
The  damsel  of  the  valley — pure  as  snow— 

.'?//.   Melted  by  a  summer's  sun. 

Con.  Do  not  jest— 
'Twotild  be  a  chmgcroiis  thing. 

Jllf.  Did  you  know  her? 

Con.  1  know  her*  we  went  to  school  together. 

•ilf.  Then,  I  suppose,  you  thought  her  chaste. 

Con.  I  did ; 
But  not  more  chaste  than  the  is  now,  I  guess! 

•iff.   Ily  heavens!  the  villain  should  be  burnt  alive! 
The  whitest  snow,  in  falling,  may  be  changed! 

Con.   What  means  this  kind  o'*talk — she  is  not  married' 

Jilf.  Ah!  if  t'wc-re  so,  t* would  be  as  well  as  'tis, 
Hut  not  much  better! 

Con.   What  is  it > — tell  mo? 

•Mf.   \\  hy,  he  is  blown  so  high,  the  birds  may  build 

D 


90  CONRAD  AND  Et  DORA; 

Their  nesU  in  him,  before  he  falls!— she's  lowf 

Con.  What?— taunt  me  no  more  with  slanderous  words! 
Come,  play  the  fool  no  more!  1  know  them  both. 

dlf.  Then,  what  1  tell  thec,  1  would  have  thce  keep, 
At  silent  as  the  grave  confines  the  dead! 
The  gentleman  who  represent)!  our  state— 

Con.  H~s  he  committed  murder— treason — rape? 

Alf.  Yes!  all  that!  as  sure  as  you're  a  living  man! 
His  passion,  not  content  with  earthly  things, 
Has  conjured  up  his  brain — beguiled  his  heart! 
Whereby  he  ruined  the  sweetest  thing  on  earth! 

Con.  Verv  well — I'll  see  you  soon  again. 

Mf.  SUy>  [DuturM. 

Thou  art  in  love! — he  not  disturbed — 'tis  vain! 

('on.   \  do  not  care!  tis*  nought  to  me!— what  else? 

Jtlf.  \  think  thou  art  my  friend!  be  such  to  her! 
And  better  still,  1  know  that  I  am  thine  ; 
And  'tis  from  this  strong  friendship  that  1  speak. 

Con.  Why!  tell  me  what  thou  knowest  about  the  man? 

Alf.  If  thou  hast  courage,  learn  him  honesty. 
He  made  a  promise  to  Kudora,  as  I  heard, 
And  acted  like  a  traitor  in  the  bargain. 

Co/i.  Ah!  if  she  loved  him  well,  and  he  deceived  her, 
Then,  the  crime  falls  heavier  on  his  heart — 
Than  on  them  both,  did  both  love  equally. 

.///.   1  understand  this  thing  from  good  me  it's  mouths. 

('on.  What* — it  is  not  so' — it  can't  be  possible  > 

Alf.  Trees  arc  known  by  fruits  they  bear!— spring  it 

come! 
'Cow.  Jiy  heaven!  I  understand  ye— you  arc  his  friend? 

Jllf.   I'm  no  such  thing! — I'd  rather  cut  his  throat ! 

Co/i.  That  you  had  better  keep  within  your  mouth. 

.iff.  1  must  be  gone — good  day!  [Exeunt  .llfrtd. 

COM.   tlood  day,  Alfred. 

1  would  not  nurture  in  my  soul,  one  thought,         [Jlunc. 
Which  would  he  hurtful  to  my  fellow  man; 
And  hope,  for  virtue's  sake — for  heaven — and  love, 
Which  1  have  borne  so  long — that  'tis  not  so. 
1  love  Kudora!  and,  u  sw<  ctcr  child, 
I  never  saw  deserve  a  mother's  love. 
That  villain  must  have  used  some  violent  menus; 
And,  if  he  did,  which  I  shall  seek  to  know, 


OH,  TIIK  DEATH  OP  A  I. ON 7,0.  31 

I'll  arm  me  M  a  Hydra,  full  of  heacix, 

A*ul,  Argils  ey'd,  with  swift  Achillen*  speed, 

Pursue  him,  like  a  bloodhound,  clay  and  nipht. 

And  finding*  him,  make  daylight  through  his  heart! 

'Till,  draining  ev'ry  life  drop  from  his  veins, 

Winter  of  death  shall  blow  upon  hit  soul, 

And  freeze  up  his  existence  into  dust! 

Shall  I  premeditate  a  brother's  death'— 

No  kinsman  of  this  heart! — tUink'.st  thou,  this  hand, 

When  wush'd  in  life's  red  spring,  will  not,  with  joy, 

Pluck  out  the  thorn  which  wounds  Kudora's  heart' 

I  would  not  hurt  the  heart  of  mortal  nun; 

J  would  not  wound  the  feelings  of  a  slave; 

I  wot i Id  not  trespass  on  the  moral  laws, 

For  that  poor,  paltrv  recompense,  call'd  pride.— 

Ily  heaven!  I  have  for  man,  far  nobler  views! 

A  id  would  not  wound  the  sympathies  of  self.— 

[.Strikes  hit  heart. 

My  end  and  aim,  for  this,  and  future  life, 
Takes  root  in  richer  soil  than  common  earth; 
Hut  if  the  chalice  of  my  hopes, — so  full 
Of  pure  and  perfect  love,-fbe  drain'd  to  dregs; 
And  I  am  forced  to  drink  the  wormwood  left— 
Ily  truth!  my  run-mad  heart  shall  quench  its  fire. 
Look  at  these  hands! — these  stainless  hands  of  mine!— 
Were  they  kept  clean  thus  long,  to  murder  man! 
To  turn  a  Vulcan — ihakc  a  human  forge, 
And  point  a  steel,  that  has  no  feeling  in  it* 
And  loose  the  fountain  of  his  mortal  lift.-, 
'Till  ev'ry  drop  of  human  gore  runs  out* 
Would'st  thou  belkrve,  a  man,  who  never  saw 
A  death  in  all  his  Hfe! — one,  who  would  weep, 
In  woman's  tears,  to  see  a  suffering  thing!— 
Would'st  thou  believe  that  man  could  sport  with  human 

lifc»— 

This  is  the  man— these  are  the  hand*  shall  do  't! 
I  have  authority  from  higher  climes. 
And  mark!  if  I  have  not — I  tell  tlree,  there 
Are  crimes,  which,  once  committed,  call  for  aid, 
Which,  when  bestowM,  would  be  a  crime  itself, 
We'rt  not  fdr  such  as  this — the  shedding  blood, 
Ax  sacrifice,  for  orphan  honour  >tolcn! 


; 

32  COJKHAD  AND  H  I>OH  A  ; 

Clouding  Uic  crystal  »c a  of  limpid  life— 

That  unpolluted  region  of  the  soul, 

In  which  obscene  defilement  never  sat;— 

Now,  may  heaven  give  me  wings  to  speed  this  work. 

[Extuni. 

SCENE  HI.— Jt  Cottage  in  the  Country,  where  Eudora 
and  Elvira  /I'M.     Conrad  filer*— goes  to  the  door  and    , 
knock*  {  and  Elvira  comet  out. 
Con.  Good  evening,  El  Yin! — pleasant  evening. 
Elv.  Pleasant  evening — walk  in,  and  take  your  rest. 
Con.  I  have  a  message  for  Eudora's  self; 
And  I  must  see  her. — 

Elv.  You  cannot  see  her, 
I  hope  you  did  not  come  here  to  insult  me > 

Con.  I  did  not — my  name  is  Conrad,  tell  her  so—- 
That I  am  of  her  people,  and  her  Und— 
\  have  a  present  tor  her. 

Elv.  1  cannot. 

I  have  rctirM  forever  from  the  world, 
And  would  not  see  the  dearest  friends  on  earth! 
Con.  I  knew  that,  e'er  I  came — here,  give  her  this» 

[Hand*  her  a  Utter. 
Tell  her,  that  I  would  speak  ten  words,  at  most. 

[Goes  in  to  Eudora. 

Elv.  Eudora  begs  me  to  inform  you  that 
She  must  refuse;  and  bade  me  give  you  this — 

[Hand*  him  a  book. 

Con.  By  heaven!  I  came  to  see  Eudora's  face, 
And  I  must  do 't— excuse  me,  ladye! 
1  am  Eudora's  friend — a  trusty  friend. 

Elv.  Are  you  a  madman?— -get  you  gone — 1  say 
She  will  not  see  thcef 

Con.  Tell  her  o'er  again — 
Ask  her  if  1  can  see  her  on  to-morrow  ? 
Give  her  these  jewels, — and  bid  her  keep  them, 
For  the  love  the  giver  bears  her — take  them. 

[Tb/rtf  them  and  got*  in. 

(Alone)  The  sun  is  fulgent,  and  his  sheeny  light, 
Hy  God's  strong  alchemy,  transmutes  the  day— 
What  harmonious  wo  is  that  which  stirs 


OB,  TIIK  DKATft  OP  ALON7.0.  S3 

The  fountain  of  my  MMI|,  and  jars  the  string*, 

Which  vibrate  in  my  heart  >—  *tU  tweet  a*  *ad!— 

Oh!  how  it  settles  in  the  tenderness  of  pride, 

Waving  upon  life'i  atmosphere  of  love! 

Ah!  *ti§  the  dove—  an  emblem  of  her  virtue. 

That  is  another  witness  nature  gives, 

Which  proves  how  much  her  innocence  wa*  wronged! 

The  spirits  of  the  world,  are  all  at  war, 

And  nature  mourns—  the  morn  and  evening  weeps!— 

II  y  truth!  I  will  not  go—  1  cannot  go! 

The  fountains  of  my  heart  are  wont  to  gush, 

And  1  must  hurst,  or  give  existence  vent. 

I  will—  I  will  behold  Kudora's  face! 

I'll  see  if  she  be  changed  since  first  we  met. 

I'll  watch  the  mirror  of  her  soul,  and  trace 

The  outlines  of  primeval  joy—  sweet  hour*! 

When  tears  were  lost  in  smiles,  as  morning  hate 

In  sunshine..    Has  she  forgot  my  name*—  no. 

I'll  tell  her,  like  a  man,  and  make  her  im'tle. 

[GofJt  to  the  door  and  knocks,  and  Kudora,  comet  out. 

Con.  Art  thou  Kudora  >    oh!  Kudora!  come— 

[Hffuif*  to  go  to  Aim,  and  he  wttp*. 

Kud.  What  mean  you,  Conrad  .»  —  speak,  that  I  may  know  ? 
Thou  look'st  like  playtime,  in  my  early  youthi 
When  I  was  that,  I  ne'er  shall  he  a^ain!  [  JfV/)*. 

Con.  Dost  thou  remember  those  dear  streams  of  ours, 
Where  we  have  heard  the  sweet  melodious  birds  * 
That  plenitude  of  bliss  is  gone,  Kudora! 
One  month  ago,  and  I  was  far  from  thee— 
Hut  I  could  not  remain—  my  soul  was  full! 

AW.  Conrad!  thou  art  distressed  > 

Con.  1  am,  Kudora! 
Hut  love  and  tenderness  forbid  me  tell  it. 

Eud.  Speak,  Conrad!   mother  knew  thee  not—  thou 

hadst 
Been  welcome,  had  she  known  thy  manly  face. 

Con.  That  lonely  hut  —  and  was  that  built  for  thee> 

it. 


{Ion.  Ye§,  for  me!—  a  villain  drove—  [ll'ttpt. 

AW.  Name  it  not  —  1  will  not  hear  it*       [  ffi/A  anger. 
AW.  Soft;  soft! 
Con.  Oh!  Eudora!  didst  thou  not  know  1  lov'd  thee  > 


34  CONRAD  AND  Kt  DoKA, 

Eud.  No,  Conrad!  that  I  cannot  know— I'll  think ! 
Con.  Think  not— Kudora!  dost  thou  ace  you  sun, 
Shedding  it*  beauty  on  the  world?  von  hills*— 
Yon  canopy  of  deathless  blue?— entnroned 
Above  the  universe,  without  a  frown* 
Now,  if  thou  dost,  thou  secst  I  love  thee  well! 
For  1  am  but  a  spark  of  that  great  light— 
A  satellite  disccrption  of  the  heavens! 
I  know  the  reason  that  thou  lingcrest  here. 

Eud.  How  plainly  do  I  sec  those  eyes  of  youth, 
Beaming  with  love,  as  when  an  active  child! 
1  lov'd  them  then— why  was  I  led  away?—  [ HVf/ii. 

And  now,  in  this  sad  day,  I  feel  that  love— 
A  something,  which  I  would,  but  can't  define. 

Con.  Why  live,  Kudora!  from  the  world*— from  man? 
Eud.  Why  wound  me  with  recurrences  so  keen? 
When  heaven  dislikes  to  hear  them? — say  no  more! 
My  soul  is  full  of  sorrow,  and  my  heart 
Is  crush'd  beneath  the  mountain  of  my  woes! 
Oh!  my  father!  were  he  living!— were  he  here!— 
But  he'is  gone!— yea,  dead  and  in  hi*  grave! 
1  feel  the  tide  of  indignation  rushing 
Back  upon  me— till  a  monument  stands 
Up, and  points  to  heaven— Ah!  tis  sorrow's  pangs!  [flee/u. 

Con.  Oh!  Kudora!  give  me  thy  hand — be  mine* 
A  better  heart  ne'er  warm'd  a  human  breast. 

End.  Never — never — though  I  lov'd  thee  as  my  life! 
Would  I  forswear  myself?     I've  done  it  once!' 
I'll  never  do  't  again — I  never  did! 

[  n't  f  fa  ami  full*  in  hit  arms. 

Con.  What  hast  thou  sworn,  Kudora?  tell  me,  love! 
Eud.  Not  to  beoucath  this  heart  to  mortal  man, 
Until  my  woes  are  baptiz'd  in  his  blood! 
And  wash'd  from  hell's  most  spurious  counterfeit. 
Con.  Then  we  are  sworn  alike — give  me  thy  hand* 

[She  refute*. 

You  sec  this  face  of  mine — you  see  this  daggcri  [Showt  it. 
This  is  my  young  companion — I  am  thine! 
Now,  we  can  nil  be  friends — give  ufe  thy  hand* 

Rud.  Not  till  I  hear  thee  swear,- and  look  to  heaven! 
Con.  By  heavens!  I  will  not — 'twas  that  villain's  prayer! 
Eud.  Yes,  that  it  was;  may  heaven  defend  thv  love! — 

[/*(!//«  un  nit  breast. 


OR,  Till:  DKATJI  Of  ALOMO.  35 

Then  ••  swear  not  hy  the  heavens— it  is  God's  throne! 
Nor  by  the  earth,"  my  love,  "for  'tis  his  footstool!" 
But  swear  hy  comfort  here,  and  life  to  come. 

Con.  1  swear  by  comfort  here,  and  heaven  to  come, 

[Knult, 

That,  with  thy  hand,  as  gift  of  estimation— 
As  truly  shall  this  earth  reci'.ve  his  Mood. 

AW.  Then  it  is  thine,  and  I  am  thine,— mine  all; 

[ 'Jit-fa  her  hand. 

But  never  will  I  marry  mortal  man, 
'Till  he  turn  priest,  and  wed  him  unto  death! 

Con.  'Tis  said — 'tis  done,  as  sure  a»  said — 1  will 
Not  sleep — '1*11  not  lie  down  upon  my  bed, 
Until  I  place  this  birthright  in  his  heart, 
And  send  him,  with  the  legacy,  to  hell! 

AW.  Be  not  too  rash — the 'thing  should  be  well  done! 
And  mind,  you  leave  no  spark  behind— but  tramp 
The  embers,  ere  you  quit  him,  into  ashes  I—- 
For fear,  one  breath  may  blow  him  back  his  soul, 
And  kindle  life  again — he  has  a  wife! 
And  I  am  sorry  for  her! 

Con.  And  so  am  I — she  never  did  me  harm; 
And  I  am  sorry  for  his  children— child! —  [Looksat  Eudm. 

AW.  Oh!  heavens!  forgive  me,  Conrad! — name  it  not   — 


Con.  Thou  hast  a  child,  Kudora!  I  know  it  all — 
I  will  restore  thee  to  thyself  again. 
That  child  shall  he  no  orphan,  like  thyself! — 
She  shall  be  rear'd  and  taught  bcneatn  my  roof. 

Eud.  Oh!  Conrad!  them  w.cr't  sent  to  heal  this  wound. 

Con.  What* — thou  did'bt  love  the  villain? — let  him  die! 

[I haw*  Au  dagger. 

AW.  Oh!  Conrad!  forgive  me! 

Con.  Forgive  you,  what* 

Because  you  lov'd  him* — that  needs  no  forgiveness!— 
The  thing  forgives  itself,  and  heaps  up  hell 
Against  his  guilt — the  wrath  offiiun  and  heaven! 
I  Jove  the  better — hate  his  crime  the  more—- 
To know  thou  wer*t  10  kind,  and  he  betray  thee. 

AW.   Then,  drag  him  from  the  world! — he   is  that 

curtain, 

Shading  life,  which  shut*  out  sunshine  from  my  soul!   . 
But  tear  the  wolf-skin  ft  OP.  'us  back,  and  throw 


tlfl  roNRAH  AND  rrnn* A; 

It  to  the  Hop*—  F.ttdora  live*  once  morel- 
Thin  hand  and  heart  shall  then  be  thine — thine  own. 

rou.  These  hand*  shall  wash  thy  name  as  white  as  snow* 

Hud.  I  would  not  chronicle  my  mime  on  earth, 
But  have  my  virtue  written  in  the  skies. 

COM.  You  would  not  have  me  kill  him  in  the  night?— 
Let  me  fight  him  like  a  man, — face  to  face. 
Cowards  seek  their  prey  by  night,  like  wolves— 
I  am  no  fox— I'll  weigh  hi*  chunre  with  mine. 

'AW.  Fight  with  a  traitor* — give  him  chance  to  kill  thee? 
He  may  possess  the  muscle,  nerve  and  strength- 
All  that— -and  still  not  have  a  human  soul! 
The  ox  hath  power — a  stubborn,  ignorant  thing. 
Would'st  thou  be  bsvlanc'd  with  an  ignorant  ox? 
Man's  reason,  once  dehas'd,  falls  short  of  instinct i 
Therefore,  secure  him  in  the  night — a  dungeon  night! 
And  raise  the  flood-gates  of  his  treacherous  heart, 
And  let  the  riven  of  his  life  run  hack 
To  dust— the  elements  from  which  they  came. 

[dncs  m/ft  the  rvtfagc. 

Con.  Then,  I  must  be  as  yon  eternal  sun-- 
Fix'd  and  immovable — hard  as  adamant  i 
And  steadfast  as  the  pillars  of  this  world. 
What  care  I  for  this  golden  trophy,  here, 
Call'd  honour1 — silver  opinions* — night!  night! 
Shall  hide  me  from  the  sophistry  of  men; 
And  make  this  unsophisticated  heart, 
A  chaplet  for  Eudora  ami  mankind. 
She  has  become  like  Israi-.'j  increase, 
Needs  the  strength  of  such  an  honest  arm, 
To  roll  this  mountain  from  her  tender  heart—! 
To  morrow,  1  shall  see  linn  for  the  last.    [Kudora  rftumt. 

End.  He  careful,  Conrad!  he  may  kill  thee  first! 
And  when  thou  dost  return,  oh!  1  wdl  love  thee! 
And  ull  my  life  shall  be  to  nurse  and  praise  thee! 
And  wash  thy  bloody  hands  with  tears  of  joy. 

Con.  Sweet  ladyc!  sweetener  of  all  love,— my  joy- 
On!  what  would  1  not  do  to  please  thee?— die! 
I'd  die  without  a  pang  to  see  thee  smile. 

Kud.  Take  care!  lest  he  betray  thee  unto  death! 
Oh!  then,  this  life  would  be  a  tenfold  curse! 
Steal  on  him,  Conrad!  when  he's  in  his  office- 
Tell  him  you're  his  friend,  and  wish  to  yec  him! 


OK,  THIS  DKATII  OF  ALONtO.  87 

I  am  hit  friend—  1  am  to  dp  that  man 
A  moit  immortal  good!     1  am  to  rid 
Htm  of  a  burthen,  which  I  would  not  wear, 
For  all  Golconda'i  mine*—  I  am  to  prune 
Hi*  tuckcr'd  conscience,—  which  is  waiting  down 


Hii  substance,  into  pigmy 

Methinks  he  should  be  thankful  in  the  grave! 

AW.  He  would  not  face  thee,  for  hU  weight  in  gold. 

Con.  Why  not,  Kmluru' 

AW.  Oh!  he's  such  a  coward! 
The  mott  notorious  cowartl  in  this  world. 
NVho  ever  saw  a  foe  to  virtue  brave, 
And  not  indict  a  blush  to  hide  his  shame  * 
Find  him  out,  hut  call  Eudora's  name  ! 
And  thou  can'st  do,  with  him,  iust  what  you  please. 
Tell  him,  Kudora  lov'd  him  —  then,  you  smile; 
Then  mark  the  cloud  which  overhangs  his  brow! 
Fire  his  expectation  —  then  sav,  'tis  peace. 
Then,  ask  him  if  he  do  not  think  me  pure* 
Then  read  self-condemnation  on  his  checks! 
Make  liim  acknowledge  how  he  scrv'd  my  mother— 
Then  note  the  quiver  of  his  lying  lips! 
Ask  him  if  he  does  not  deserve  to  die* 
And  mark  how  prostrate  he  will  fall  before  thee!— 
Howling  for  mercy,  like  a  beaten  dog. 
Ask  him  all  this  —  and  tell  me  what  he  says. 
1  would  not  have  you  sec  his  wife  —  she's  kind! 
And  would  not  tlo  her  wrong  —  she  calls  him  dear! 
lint,  if  she  knew  his  heart  as  well  as  I, 
She'd  not  refuse  to  be  our  accessary. 

Cow.  Now,  out  of  two  fond  hearts,  we  make  but  one. 
Like  two  sweet  notes  from  one  melodious  string, 
We  make  our  music  on  a  human  harp. 

AW.  Take  care,  Conrad!  bo  not  rash!—  mind,  my  lore! 
Rut  weigh  ambition  in  the  scales  of  patience. 
Cio,  li'  j  Ulysses,  in  a  clt>ak  —  well  arm'd  — 

Con.  One  kiss,  Kudora!  and  the  work  is  done  — 

[A's'jM*  A/r. 

Farewell!  I  hate  that  word!  it  makes  me  wish      [Shake* 
Myself  with  thee  again  —  then,  fare  tlice  well!        [handt. 

AW.  Farewell,  and  1  will  wail—  mind  what  1  told  thee. 

[  Kjccunt  omnci. 
ftxn  or  ACT  n. 


f  OMMTt  AM)  »:i 


AOTZXZ. 

SCKNR  \.-Fraidfort.— Enttr  C»nradt  tlotoly  and 
thoughtfully. 

Con.  I  have  an  eddying1  aorrow  in  my  heart! 
It  must  be  done1— it  must  be  done,  as  sworn! 
I  know  too  much  of  speed — to  linger  here! 
Here  is  a  hand,  and  here  is  too,  a  heart! — 
A  kinder,  never  lov'd,  or  h;ul  a  friend.— 
A  prouder,  never  beat  a  human  breast ! 
With  these  two  friends,  in  purpose  bound,  I'll  make 
A  breach  in  nature,  time  shall  never  heal! 
Beside  this  heart,  sleeps  virtue's  warmest  friend. 
Within  this  cell,  it  rests  in  deep  repose. 
It  counts  the  very  pulses  of  my  heart, 
And  cheers  impatience  on  to  swifter  speed. 
How  warm  it  feels! — now,  when  I  wake  it  hence! 

(Draw*  hit  dagger. 

See  how  its  face  will  shine! — and  I  will  wash 
It  in  a  human  fount,  all  full  of  blood! 
Then  bury  him,  without  a  funeral  rite, 
That  virtue's  foes  may  read  his  epitaph! 
This  tongue,  no  more,  shall  sound  his  obsequies! 
Nor  wake  him  from  his  rest! — but,  like  his  prey, 
Shall  live  and  die!  upon  his  first  resolve! 
Now,  when  I  wake  him,  thus, — 'twill  be,  to  sheathe 
It  in  the  foulest  heart  that  ever  beat! 
1  would  not  deign  inter  it  in  his  breast, 
But  such  an  absolution  sweeps  away 
The  guilt,  which  dyed  the  name  of  innocence! 
'Tis  hard! — but  these  are  darling  energies!— 
He  made  his  bed—his  fardels  shall  be  thorns. 
There  is  a  watchman  in  the  city,  here, 
Which  cries  loves  night  of  hate,  to  actual  morn! 
When  1  must  guardian  be,  to  love's  estate — 
Avenge  her  many  wrongs,  with  gratitude; 
And  stamp  the  traitor  underneath  my  feet! 
Thou  good  old  friend! — my  heart!  it  must  be  done! 


OR,  TI1K  DEATH  OF  ALONZO.  30 

I 

Wake  up  thy  rivulet*,  and  feed  my  sou!< 
And  make  a* freshet,  like  Kvulora'*  tear*! 
Now,  balance  consequence  with  insult  given; 
And  in  the  scale*  of  everlasting  love, 
Sweep  down  the  wasting  banks  of  bandy  life, 
And  wash  seduction  from  creation's  shore. 
My  country!  when  1  look  upon  my  land — 
Mine  own  devoted  soil,  which  guve  me  birth, 
1  cry  out  in  my  spirit,  glorious  Isle!—' 
Thou  younger  mother  of  the  best  of  men!— 
Where  once  the  canebrake  told  the  rivers  flow. 
The  queen  of  Andalusia  stands  divine! —  r 

1M  live  a  thousand  years  and  be  ut  rest 
With  thee — thou  altogether  lovely  land! 
Wer't  not  for  that  huge  dam,  which  shoals  the  stream 
Of  all  life's  blessedness!— now,  he  shall  die! 
Hut  stay — am  I  not  wrong *     She  bade  me  kill 
Him  in  the  night! — the  starless,  dead  of  night!— 
But  1  must  probe  the  courage  of  his  soul, 
And  meet  him  in  the  daylight,  like  a  man. — 

Enter  ALVXR. 

Who  come*  there?  Alver,  my  fri.und!  how  art  thou* 
.i/rrr.  Well,  I  thank  vour'kindncss,  how  art  thou* 
Von.  Well,  1  thank  ye— Alver!  can'st  thou  not  tell 

Me  where  Alonzo  keeps  himself,  to  day > 

jilver.  Yes,  1  saw  him  )>a*s  the  hUcct  just  now— why* 
Con.   You  know  1  have  been  absent  for  some  time; 

I  wish  to  see  him — we  were  once  old  friend*. 
•9/rcr.  Alonzo's  friend*  no,  no!  that  cannot  be! 

1  thought  the  villain  had  no  friends  of  lite. 

Were  1  his  friend,  'twould  be  to  take  his  life! 

Con.   Why  MI*     Alver!  my  frie-id!   thou  art  officious? 
Jli'tr.   I  want  no  cameos,  intaglios  and  jewels— 

No  foul,  barbaric  j-old,  cnrieh'd  with  pearl, 

To  make  myself  a  frantic  libertine. 

And  woo  a  wanton  nymph  from  virtue*! 

To  be  thus  tilagrt  ed  with  antique  gems! —  [Disdainfully. 

I'd  rather  be  an  owl,  and  hoot  all  night, 

Thau  such  a  conscience-smitten  truitor. 

t'o/i.  Hast  thou  a  spark  of  hatred  gainst  that  man* 
Jllctr.  I'm  nut  his  friend!     I  need  not  tell  thee  more. 


40       .  CONK  ID  A™  EUDORA; 

A  fair  outside — but  when  you  March  hit  heart, 
There,  guilt  ami  rottenness  sepulchred  lie, 
And  crime  viands  paoting  with  stupendous  guilt! 
The  offspring-  of  his  promise  to  Kudora. 
Mark  me !  a  man,  who  lives  a  foe  to  virtue, 
Is  no  friend  10  man! — traitor!  coward!  dor!  ^         y 
That  man  would  steal  your  soul  at  dead  of  night!  • 
That  man,  M  ho  would  deceive  an  orphan  girl, 
By  blushes — silvered  over  with  his  tears-— 
>Vould  rob  9  widow,  and  betray  hU  father! 
If  smaller  hearts  hold  in  their  smaller  deeds, 
Then  larfctr  hearts  hold  in  them  greater  crimes ; 
And  the  incentive  in  the  last,  is  greatest! 
Therefore,  I  say,  bewui-e  of  such  a  man! 
A  Cataline — a  Nero  is  a  brighter  man. 

Con.  Thou  art  incensed  Mguinst  that  man! — why  lo* 
Thou  would'st  impugn  him  with  thy  very  wrath! 

Alter.  Since  thy  return,  thou  hast  not  heard  the  news, 
Which  float  about,  like  chaff  upon  the  wind, 
Which  way  you  choose  to  blow  it. 

Con.  Why*  that's  strange! 

Jilvtr.  'Tis  not  more  strunge  than  true! — didst  thou  not 
About  one  year  ago,  this  same  Alon/.o.  [know. 

Courted  fair  F.udora' 

Con.   No;  I  did  not. 

.f/trr.  The  villain  kept  it  from  the  world,  for  fear 
Hi*  devilish  deeds  might  come  to  light. 

Con.  How  HO> 
What  harvest  has  he  sown  to  reap  thy  curses* 

.ih-tr.  Go  down  in  yonder  vale,  and  thou  wilt  see. 
Look  at  that  eye,  which  was  unto  thy  soul, 
A  living  star!— which  roll'd  within  its  orb, 
And  would  have  gazed  a  wild  gu/.elle  away— 
Now  shining  in  an  atmosphere  of  tears! 
The  sorrows  of  Klvira  arc  too  great! 

Con.  Where  is  Klvira' — has  she  left  this  place > 

Alvrr.  Yes,  long  ago 5  and  made  the  solitudes 
Her  home. 

Con.  Has  he  exposed  'ier  goods  to  sale? 
He  had  her  property  ut  his  control, 
To  which  Elvira's  daughter  was  an  heir. 

Ah!  so  much  the  worse; — I  did  not  know  that. 


OR,  TUB  DEATH  OP  ALON/o.  41 

The  treacherous  devil,  then,  lias  mined  them  both. 
You  trump  the  adder— see  if  lie  will  hitc! 
To  try  a  man,  place  money  in  his  hunch, 
Then  mount  him  on  the  steed  of  lenity; 
And  when  lie  has  the  reins,  if  you  perceive 
lie  guide*  him  wt  II, — with  eure  HIM!  honesty,— 
Then  »et  him  down  as  one  who  may  he  trusted^ 
Hut  when  you  see  him  sell  his  neighbour's  horse, 
Upon  a  h reach  of  trust,  you  shun  that  man. 
He  is  a  traitor!— thus  lie  sold  Kudora. 

dm.   What  has  lie  done* 

.tf/rrr.  1'romlsed  to  marry  her.  •* 

Con.   Is  that  all1  that  eannot  hreak  her  heart. 

J\lrcr.  This  cannot  hreak  it:  Yu  already  hrokeii. 

Con.  Perhaps  some  light  may  chase  away  her  gloom? 

,0/irr.   You  cannot  mend  a  broken  egg. 

Con.,  That's  true. 

,V//rr.  Well,  you  can  no  more  make  her  what  she  was. 
A  woman's  virtue  robbed,  like  loss  of  sight, 
Can  never  he  restored — and  life  is  night! 
Were  he  to  give  you  all  he  has  on  earth, 
'T  would  only  lend  enchantment  to  the  crime, 
And  gild  dcstruftion.     (jilt  wears  oil'; 
Hut  guilt  like  this  can  never  wear  away. 
If  thou  canst  be  her  friend,  'twould  please  the  heavens. 

Con.  \  he  her  friend *  how  can  that  be* 

J/rir.   Kill  him! 

dm.   Do  that  which  I  could  not  behold  thec  do? 
There,  thou  hast  touched  the  secret  strings  of  nature. 

.Mrcr.  No  less  than  death  can  ever  give  her  peace. 

Con.    How  knowest  thou  that' 

•9/itr.  lly  fathoming  the  crime. 

Coiirml  ti.kt.t  h'm  fnnul. 

Alver!  thou  art  an  hum  >t  inun — I  know  thee! 
Were  I  a  man,  who  trusted  men — I'd  choose  thcc 
From  the  world!  but  say  no  more!   I'll  love  thee, 
Though  I  ne'er  shall  see  thec  more!  [Shakes  htmdt. 

Mwr.   Fare  thec  well!  [Ejcntnt  Jlvtr. 

Con.  When  Noah  sent  the  turtle  from  the  ark, 
The  first  poor,  honest  thing,  was  drowned!— -it  died! 
Elijah  multiplied  the  widow's  oil, 
And,  Nathan  gave  to  David  good  advice. 

K 


43  CONRAD  AND  &ITDORA; 

How  1  love  to  look  upon  an  honest  man? 

My  heart  once  i^rew  so  full  of  love,  I  thought 

'Twoulil  he  u  hotter  plan  to  trust  that  man.. 

My  aoul  wan  full,  to  risk  him  to  befriend  met 

Hut  such  a  deed  an  this,  admits  no  trust! 

Then,  quickly,  down  the  door  of  prudence  «hut. 

And  lock'd  credulity  in  tmhcTicf. 

I  love  that  man,  as  David  lovM  his  brother! 

But  he  infill  turn  out  Catalinc,  for  all. 

Therefore,  'tis  host  to  hardly  trust  one's  aelf. 

Who' knows  ho\v  soon  man's  nature  may  missive! 

And  frail  expectancy  beguile  his  trust > 

Where  art  thou,  friend  * — what!  asleep  in  daylight! 

I  Til/ft*  mtl  hi  a  dagger, 
This  bright  cmbassador's  as  warm  as  life! 
This  is  that  guardian  ati^i-l,   at  the  tfattJ 
Of  paradise,   which  kei  ps  the  banished  out. 
Ah!   'tis  a  ticket  in  a  lottery — 
"With  love,  and  hate,  and  homicide  for  number*, 
And  when  the  pri/e  is  drawn,   'twill  turn  out  blood! 
And  pay  my  way  to  fond  Kudora's  arms. 
How  sweet  is  nclf-congratulation's  voice! 
Like  echoes  from  the  Hijfhs  of  those  we  love: 
It  builds  a  bridge  across  the  ^ulf  of  fear, 
And  Vmds  the  sword  of  resignation  on. 
Have  I  them  all  >  'tis  better  to  be  Mire,   [AWi'j  ut  hlinxeJf. 
Than  lose  one's  life  from  nejfli^eiice — to  a*k 
An  absolution  when  decrees  are  past, 
Seems  hc^in^  pardon  after  punishment.  [IIcsitattM. 

Now,   1  must  think  upon  it  for  the  last. 
I'll  do  that  which  is  In  ,t  — I'll  call  him  out. 

[dw»  to  /tin  nf/irr  am/  kmtck*.     »l/un:o  comes  out. 

.'1/unzo.   Conrad!  ik  that  you'  I'l <end!  how  do  ymi  do? 

I.V/IW/YA  /mm/*. 

Con.  How  doye  do,  my  friend*  \%  Alon/.o  well? 
I'm  tflad  to  see  you,  nir,  indeed!— no  hewn* 

J/on.  None,  1  think,  uj>on  my  word! 

Con.  Ah!  no  news' 

Well,  that  U  strange,  I  do  declare!  no  news! 
Suppose  we  take  a  \\alk'    I  hate  home  news!   [Ihritatct. 

.ilun.  1  would,  but — 1 — 1  hutc—  I  muht  be  j^one — 

away. 


OR,  TUP.  DEATH  OP  ALONZO.  43 

Cnn.  St:iy— :i!1  excuse  is  vain!  walk,  or  do  worse. 
Jlitn.   Do  what  >  tliou  h:ist  no  hatred  'gainst  a  friend? 
Con.  None  in  the  world — hcst  friend  you  ever  had. 
.7A//I.  Well,  indeed!  and  I  am^hcd  tohcarit.  [Tmnllet. 
Cun.  Why  do  vou  tremble  so*     Why  look  so  pule? 
You  look  like  you  had  been  in  some  had  place > 

You  have  no  lutrcd  lodged  in  heart,  for  me? 
Why  do  you  ask  that  question? 
,7/w/i.   You  look  mad! 

You  look  an  if  you  had  repressed  some  thought,-—       , 
Some  hatred  which  is  wont  to  vent — is't  so? 
Cun.  'Tis  Mexico. 
.Hon.  Conrad,  1  ask  forgiveness—do  not  kill  me! 

[Kneelt. 

Con.  Alon/o!  what's  the  matter?  rise,  you  fool!  [liitca. 
I  said  'twas  Mexico— the  land — the  sun- 
That  savage  land! — the  things  I  saw  last  year! 

.'lion.   I  fear  that  Htmny  land!  men's  heart*  grow  hot 
Beneath  that  sun. 

Con.   It  should  he  warm  to  friends. 
.'Hon.   Art  thou  my  friend  *  oh!  could  I  think  thee  to! 
Cun.   Did  I  not  tell  thee  so,  just  now* — why  not? 
Thou  look'st  as  if  SOUK-  foregone  dci*d  l)cpiiied  thcc. 
\\\\\  not  look  up,  and  l>e  a  IH.UI'   do>t  love? 
.iltm.   I  love  my  wife  and  children — they  arc  kind. 
dm.   Hast  thou  a  wife  and  children? 
Jllun.  Ycs^  'tis  true. 
Cnn.   Kudora  is  th\  \\ife? 

.Qlun.  No;  An^eliiie!  [frightened. 

Cun.  Ah!  then  the  people  lie— they  iay,  Kudora! 
.lion.    Kudora — \cs--l  know! — hut!   1  thought — 
Cnn.  Thought  \\hat!  Art  thou  a  man?  Hast  thou  a  soul? 
Jinn.    I  am  not  what  I  was!   ah!  'tis  too  hard! 
Cun.  Thou  'rt  more  than  thou  wilt  ever  he  aprain! 
•Hun.   You  will  not  nmnU  r  me  ?  •    [Frig/tit ned. 

Cun.   ^^"ll\  think  vou  NO> 

Dost  thou  deM-r\e  tii  die*     She  hade  me  ask  thee?    v 
Thou  wilt  not  speak,  and  look'tt  as  pale  as  dcath—» 
Ditl'st  thou  IH  \i  i1  Imi    Kudora > 
.lion.    I  did. 

Con.  \Yhy,  then,  not  marry  her?  * 

Jlun.  1  could  not,  then! 


44  CONRAD  AND  KUDORA; 

•    Con.  Why  not  *  lie  not  to  me-^T  know  thee,  devil! 
Thou  hadst'her  moneys  in  thy  lund,  thou  villain! 
Why  cheat  her  of  IKT"  birthright,  und  thus  bring 
Her"  mother  into  want  aiul  sorrow ! — xju  uk  * 

Jlon.  Oh!  Conrad,  do  not  kill  me!  1ft  me  live!  [h'nctl*. 

Con.  Thou,  villain!  «l«»»t  thou  not  deserve,  to  d.e* 

.fA//i.  Oil!  Consul,  do  mil  kill  me — spare  my  life! 
Didst  thou  ttot  tell  me^thou  wert  true,  my  friend? 

Con-  I  did — I  tlioilgCt  thec  honest! — thou  art  not! 

Jbn.  Oh!  be  my  fncnd!— 1  would  that  I  were  deud! 
i  [It  'tt-jit. 

Con.  Would  freely  die,  had'st  thou  a  friend  to  kill  thcc* 

.7/0/1.  Oh!  Conrad,  spare  my  life! 

Con.  Ah!  hear  how  he  lies! 
Thou  art  a  traitor  to  thyself! 

Jlon.   Oh!  guilt! 

Con.  Guilt,  I  think  you  say*  thou  art  guilty  then* 
Thou  prowling1  wolf,  in  clothing  of  a  lunib! 
'Twould  he  mueh  better  if  thou  ItudM  no  wife. 

Jinn.  Thou  wilt  not  kill  me,  Conrad? 

Con.  Think  on  thy  soul!  {J'ointn  at  him. 

Thou  art  dying  with  a  eonsoi once-w anting  lieart! 
Aiul  1  am  sorrv  for  thy  \\A\-  and  ehildn-n  — 
How  many  elnldnn  have  you  in  this  world  * 

Jlun.   I  have  two  lovely  children! 

Con.  Only  two* 

.Hun.  None  hut  two,  on  earth! 

Con.  Tlwn  name  them,  if  you  please. 

Jilon.  Juliet  and  Anna. 

Con.  Poor  Juliet!  and  poor  Anna! 

Jlltm.   I  love  them. 

Con.   Whieh  dost  thou  love  the  best,  of  all  the  three* 

.'/////*.   I  have  l>ttt  two  on  t:irt!i — Juliet  and  Anna! 

Con.  Where  is  Kudoru* — \\hne  is  H!U-,  I  siiy^ 

[Hit i. MX  /tin  tlitgifrr* 

MM.  Conrad,  tlo  not  kill  IIM  !   I  pr:,y  for  life!  [Kitiel*. 
Think  of  my  wife  ;;nd  children!      Spare  them!   4>! 

Con.  Wha'.!  did\t  t!»o»i  »pare  Llvira,  \\ln  n  she  wept, 
And  niourn'd  her  only  elt.lil' 

Mm.    Have  merey  on  ine!  [/!fii*t:v  In*  /taitJt. 

Con.  What  mercy  did'.st  thou  ever  giant  to  her* 
My  poor  Kudura!    *Did':>t  t!»ou  heed  her  cries* 


OR,  THE  DEATH  OP  AI.OX7.O.  45 

Who  c all M  upon  thcf,  in  the  hour  of  need* 
Thou  art  asham'd  to  bej*  for  pardon  now!  . 
Did  mercy  ever  know  thy  -heart'  now,  tell  me!-— 

[Ttifa*  him  by  the  throat. 

.lion.  I  beg  thee  for  my  life! 

Con.  What  shall  I  do>  "  [1*9*  go  M*  throat. 

Did  I  not  tell  thee,  that  I  wan  thy  friend' 

•Hon.  Then,  be  my  friend!  and  let  UK*  live  once  more! 

Con.   Why  did'st  thou  tell  a  lie,  about  thy  children' 
Thou  shouhist  be  nuirdeivd  in  these  itrccts,-— comc—fiie! 
We  mtut  he  gone — I  have  a  halm  for  thee!  [Hitct. 

.Hun.   Indeed  I  cannot  go — I  must  attend! 
1  should  l>e,  ut  this  moiii'  u',  with  my  friends. 

Con.  Thou  will  he  judged  he  fore  tomorrow  morn! 
Thou  wilt  he  chained,  l>y  de\ils,  do\\  n  in  hell! 

.Hon.   Why  sa\  fs»t  thou' art  my  friend,  and  look'st  so  mad  ? 
1  cannot  understand  thee! — thou  art  mud! 
1  *ce— -  thy  countenance  is  fidl  of  storms! 

Con.   So  my  lightning  kills  a  traitor,  all  is  well! 
If  I  hut  prove  thy  friend — then  all  is  right' 

.•Jinn.   \  cannot  go! — I  fear  some  harm  may  breed! 
Thou  art  a  ditVcrcnt  man  fnnn  what  I  thought. 
Thou  art  Kudora'*  friend!— ha»t  seen  her? 

Con.   Will! 

•Hon.  She  is  mine  enemy! — the  worst  on  earth! 

Con.    I  last  thou  not  l>een  the  vilest  foe  to  her.' 
Hast  thou  not  rolled  a  mountain  on  her  heart' 
Must  thou  not  robbed  her  of  her  joys  in  life? 
And  driven  her  mother  from  the  best  of  friend*' 

.Hun.    Thou  hast  set  n  T.udora!   and,  I  know  it  We!R 
1  must  return!  I  fear  thee,  for  my  life! 

dm.   If  thou  art  innocent  of  crime,  why  fear' 
The  truth  will  he  thy  buluark  and  thy  shield. 
No  man's  afraid  when  he  has  truth  about  him. 
Talk  not  phdosophv ! — that,  1  will  teach. 

•Hon.  Art  thou  my  friend,  ami  wilt  thou  swear  it  now? 

Con.  I  swear,  I  am  thy  friend!  thy  strongest  friend! 

Jilon.  Thou  hast  no  enmity  at  heart'  do'st  love  me? 

Con.  Why!— do-»t  thou  not  believe  a  friend? 

M,n.   1  do! 

Con.  Then  go  with  me,  and  I  will  teach  thee  much! 

[  A'xtu/*/  Cvnrud  and  Jlunzo. 


48  roNKAD  AND  KCDOHA; 

SCF.KE  II.—  In  the  riciniti/  of  Frankfort  t  on  the  fCintutky 


Conrad.  Thou  hast  a  wife  —  three  children*  ami  Oiyic.lf! 
Much  money,  many  enein'es!  —  thou'rt  rich! 
1  would  nol  l>e  so  rich  for  all  this  world. 
Doit  ihou  not  know  what  caused  the  Trojan  war? 
How  Cacus  foil  hy  Hercules  of  old.* 
How  Judith  murdered  llolofi  rnei* 
How  Hector  fended  oil'  Achille*'  arm* 
How  D.ivid  slew  (loli.di  with  a  stonr*  — 
Thy  pandects  shall  he  v.lent  in  an  h:»ur! 
Thou  hast  more  opulence  tlu.n  patient  Jo!)! 
Thou  cun'st  not  pay  thy  way  to  lu-axen,  my  friend! 
Hut  thoti  can'st  pay  thy  vc.xai^e  intti  hell! 
'Twcrc  well  to  gird  thy  c;»-h  a!>out  tlu-e,  now- 
Thin  very  <lav  thoil  shall  defend  thy  life! 

•i/ou.  Oh!*  treacherous  friend!  1  knew  it  —  let  me  kneel. 

[h'MtU. 

I  do  adnire  thcc,  Conrad!  —  let  me  live! 
And  all  my  life  —  my  uife!  my  ch'Mrcii'n  thine! 

[/A/i'sr*  hit  </./vf^"r  tun!  hoi:/*  hint  hy  tht  throat  '. 
Oh!  let  me  pray  to  heaven!  I  would  not  die! 
My  wealth  shall  he  L.tdoi  .i*>!  thine!  and  all— 

(/on.   I  don't  want  any  money  —  I  want  Mood! 
She,  don*t  want  any  money  —  sin-  wants  hloodj 
Thou  owest  thy  Me!  and  she  dcmantls  I'lV  Day! 
Judgment  h.ith  come  against  tlu-c,  in  iM  •  world; 
And  I,  her  officer,  demand  thy  He! 
Thii  vcrilict!  from  the  l..w>  of  (io.l  and  u.ture, 
'Now  cry  against  tin  i-,  in  this  manly  hand. 

[X/mwx  fi!»  dagger, 

Mai.  \  pray  thee,  to  forgive  me!  oh!  foi^i\e! 
dm.    Dost  thon  hi  hold  tlie  moveiiirnt  <  f  that  stream^ 
Then,  like  fool  Canute,  hid  its  waves  he  still! 
No  more  can  I  retract  what  I  have  sworn. 
Against  this  execution  hast  thou  none? 
And  'if  thou  had'st,  it  would  not  bar  —  here's  one! 

[(jirett  him  a  thiggtr. 

Jllon.  Remember  my  poor  children,  and  my  wife! 
Con.   Defend  thyself!  this  heart  was  born  a  man's! 
I  will  remember  one  —  Eudora's  cliild! 


OR,   Till:  DEATH  OF  ALOXZO.  47 

Rise,  ami  measure  thy  coumj^c  with  tliat  dagger! 

I  would  not  steal  away  thy  We*  hy  nijjht!  • 

.//«*!.  I  cannot!  will  not  hurt  llivc!  —  rat  her  die! 
1  owe  thce  no  ill  will!  and  will  not  strike! 

I'/Xrrwim  ttnirn  the  dagger. 

AIM.  Tak«%  up  thy  ^aiorcr!  else  thy  soul  in  £nne! 

•  linn.   \  wilt  not  raise-  my  hand,  if  tlioii  wilt  kill! 

(V»/i.   Take  up  thy  da£i£i-r,  and  defend  thyself! 

•Hun.   I  raimot!  will  not  raise  my  arm  against  their!     4 
I  have  \\roniccel  Kudora,  and  am  sorry  for'l! 
Oli!  l'\e  Kilileretl  di-  ttli  a  thousand  t.nu  >!  \IVffpt. 

(\m.    Delciul  Ihy  life  I  suy!  art  thoti  a  man* 
(•o,  »l«>jf!  \Slujta  hi*  fticc%  ttnJ  kick*  Aim. 

(it*  totliy  vomit!  ;r'»,  foul  ho^-! 

(io  to  thy  \\ullo\v!  —  take  thee  to  thy  mire!      [JCieJi*  him. 
tin,  Judas!  h:ili£  thyself  upon  a  tree! 
Th:il  |>:t^-c  r>-!»\  ,  may  look  at  tlu-c  and  lau^li! 
She  told  me  what  thou  art  —  apo^iute!  coward! 

[Kjrniiit  .f/onro. 

Thou  tthalt  not  live  —  Hut  I  must  HCC  lier  lirs.tt         [Jltmc. 
And  tlu-n,  hy  her  request,  if  she  persist, 
I'll  uade  across  the  sea,  to  cut  his  throal. 
Though  I  despise1  him  as  I  do  a  snake 
1  know  would  !*',te  me  —  when  he  hf^etl  so  hard! 
1  could  not  lu  Ip  from  feeling  fur  his  fate! 
'Tis  hard  to  kill  a  coward!—  *ts  a  task! 
Oh!  'tis  a  sin  to  cut  a  coward's  throat! 
1/tke  Neptune'*  t  rid  tilt  at  :.u  infant  hurlM! 
Now,  I  will  mei-ther,  and  my  thou^ht>  perpciul. 


S(  J  KN  K  1  1  1  .—.'/  rnttti»f  in  th<  Country,     t'wfora  »t<m£ng 
at  the  guh't  umitiughi*  rt(uriit  with  di*ctmtcnt. 

Kit  tl.  O  Hie  ions  expectation  runs  me  mad! 
I  have  l>i-en  waiting,  like  the  lonesome  dove, 
And  still,  my  comforter  de-lays  his  time! 
1  fear  the  \illain  lias  hi  en  rash  indeed! 
How  anxiety  doth  fever  every  nerve! 
His  uin^-s  are  cleft  ii|)on  some  wate-ry  waster— 
Too  far  away,  to  fine!  his  native  shore! 
My  thoughts,  new  perched,  hi^h  on  my  panting  heart, 
,      Dotli  penetrate  futurity,  j>o  dork! 


48  CONRAD  AND  EVDORA? 

While  heaven  takes  knowledge  of  indignant  wo! 

Oh!  that  the  messenger  would  come!  peace!  peace! 

Then  could  my  sickened  spirit  find  repose. 

That  bright  destroying  Angel  to  my  iioul, 

Now  guards  life's  Paradise,  with  outstretched  armii 

And  yields  his  increase  unto  virtuous  good. 

The  tilings  around  me,  arc  not  as  they  were! 

The  tribute  that  1  owe  him— oh!  how  great; 

'Twill  take  a  life  time  to  repay  his  love. 

"Why  does  he  slay?  he  surely  can't  forget! 

His  nc art  has  been  so  kind  to  poor  Eudora! 

Methinks  1  should  be  twining  rosy  wreathes! 

Where  shall  I  find  fit  laurel*  for  his  brow? 

A  coronet  of  roses  shaft  adorn  his  head! 

This  tender  heart  shall  bo  his  chanlet,  all  my  life! 

I'll  feed  him  on  the  utmost  of  mv  love — 

Gather  the  first  blown  flowers  ofr  the  spring, 

And  waft  him  praises  in  my  soul's  deep  songs! 

What,  if,  by  some  unmanly  means,  he  fall! 

The  world  would  be  an  opposite  t3  life! 

Nonentity!— a  chaos  of  dark  shades! 

Me  thinks  1  hear  him  come— oh  I  would  it  were! 

[Conrad  mtet*  her,  and  the  embrace*  Aim. 
Oh!  Conrad!  Conrad! — thou  hast  saved  my  tear*. 
My  soul  went  out  from  self,  to  search  for  thcc! 
It  wandered  from  its  dwelling  like  a  birdt 
And  like  the  faithful  dove,  bewailed  its  mate! 
Dids't  thou  not  hear  some  deep  dolorous  sound? 
Oh!  'twas  the  wide  vibrations  of  my  soul! 
Thine  absence  caused  such  tempests  in  my  heart— 

Con.  Oh,  Eudora!  thy  voice  is  so  divine! 
Speak  on,  my  gentlest!  feed  my  longing  heart — 

J2tM/.  They  dashed  their  waves  against  life's  sandy  shore, 
And  washed  away  the  footprints  of  mv  hope. 
But  on  the  sea  of  life  my  bark  still  sailed, 
As  virtue  stood,  to  guide  her,  at  the  helm. 
Oh.!  joy  to  thee,  sweet  Conrad!  joy  of  joys! 

[timbraeti  Aim. 

Con.  With  thee,  Eudora,  all  my  life  is  love, 
Eternal  sunshine  gilds  my  former  gloomy 
And  hurls  his  sacrilegious  heart  to  dust 

£W.  Whathastthoudone?— widdid'sttliouicc  Alonxo? 


OR,  TUB  DKATH  OF  ALONKO.  49 

Can.  Oh!  yen,  I've  seen  him— what  a  timid  man! 
lie  tiirnM  biographer,  with  precious  speed, 
Ami  wrote  thy  life  in  characters  of  i^old. 
He  m:ule  thee  out  the  Magdalen  of  old! 
As  tranquil  as  the  bright,  unclouded  moon— 
Oh!  how  he  hejfif'd  to  m-e  his  satellites! 
He  liegirM  me  to  In  friend  his  litt'e  s'ars; 
And  call'd  them  rose-buds  s'nti-rs  of  his  soul. 
And  when  he  call'd  his  wife,  he  wept  aloud— 
AM  big  as  sorrows  self!  and  said,  't wan  hard! 
That  he  had  dune  thec  wrong,  and  suflcr'd  for  *l! 
I  chok'd  him,  as  a  villain  should  he  rhok'di 
As  visions  of  stupendous  wrath  rosr  hijfh, 
Ami  dinnn'd  his  eye-halls! — from  fiin  Htr.inplinjf  heart, 
Itush'd  up  his  throat,  olympic  K*u'dt,  and  ffazM, 
With  fren/y  leaping  fnim  his  throhhing  braint 
Till,  [round  ahout  went  swimming  in  his  tears! 
1  pave  this  tla^er  to  him,  to  defend  his  life, 
And,  like  a  willow  twi^,  snapt  from  its  stem, 
Fell  prostrate,  tremhlinK1  at  his  nj^ly  self— 
\Vhile  I  stoo<l  o'er  him,  like  a  cypress  mourns, 
Preaching  his  funeral,  with  exulted  wrath! 
And  three  times  oller'd  him  this  pointed  steel, 
Which  lie,  as  many  times  refus'd,  with  tc  am! 
'Till  natural  pity  overcame  in«   hati't 
And  hade  me  earnestly  prorogue  his  death.        *• 

JKud.  Thou  ditl'ht  defer  hib  il.  uth,  to  give  me  pain! 

[fffep*. 

Con.  No;  my  life  shall  ho  to  yield  thee  joy. 
I  love  to  sec  thec  weep  such  anxious  tears! 
Thev  speuk  the  language  of  a  virgin  soul— 
Shed  lofty  fervor  round  expectant  joy, 
And  make  the  pathway  of  my  purpose  orient. 

Kttd.  Then,  why  not  cut  the  treacherous  villain's  throat  f 
Had  1  been  with  thee,  he  had  died  so  sweet. 
"Were  he  within  *his  proud  arm's  reach — this  stroke 
Should  he  effectual,  and  hrimf  lowness  low! 
I'd  tramp  me  in  his  blood,  and  sm  le  with  joy. 
Did  he  confess,  and  own  what  he  had  done'. 

Con.   He  did,  my  love;  and  like  a  frost-bit  leaf, 
Hantf  down  h  s  head,  and  valued  not  the  sun. 

Eud.  Could'st  thou  but  raise  the  cavern  of  his  heart. 


50  CON H AD  AlfD  EVDOR A J 

fn  which,  sepulchred  lie,  all  fulsome  thing*!      ,. . 
Thou  wouldst  behold  it  half  devoured  by  guilt! 
While  here  and  there  stand*  turbid,  stagnant  blood* 
To  torture  ami  perplex  his  guilty  soul! 
'Tis  then  tliou  shouldst  have  given  the  fmal  blow, 
And  hush'd  tlie  forgery  of  his  vulcan  heart,— 
Where  lie  conceal'd,  as  in  a  dungeon  cave, 
All  kinds  of  implements,  achieving  deeds, 
Which  villuny  would  blush  to  look  upon. 
Oh!  Conrad!  once  my  heart  was  satisfy 'd— 
I  thought  the  shadows  of  this  life  were  bright, 
And  sunshine  had  made  pleasant  all  my  paths! 

Con.  Oh!  Eudora!  am  I  not  thy  friend? 
Thy  tnic — thy  trusted  and  indulgent  friend? 
Would  I  not  wend  me  to  the  mountains'  tops? 
Cut  roads  through  forest* — swim  through  riven  wide? 
Walk  (by  and  night,  'till  I  had  found  him  out- 
Yes,  would  I  not,  for  pleasure  found  in  thec, 
Leave  all  my  utmost  friends,  and  track  him  through 
The  sea,  to  gain  one  moment  of  thy  love? 

.Enter  ALVKR. 

Jllvcr.  The  villain's  gone — he's  vanish'd  like  A  ghost! 
And  thou  hast  found  what  I  first  told  thee,  true. 

Con.  Then,  Eudora!  thou  art  happy  ? 

Kud.  No!— no!  [Hang*  her  head. 

Con.  Where  is  he  gone* 

Jtlrcr.  I  do  not  know — the  heavens  doth  only  know! 
Last  night,  beside  his  door,  was  seen  a  torch, 
Which  vanish'd  into  nought,  and  he  wc,nt  with  it! 

Con.  Where  can  he  be> 

Jllvtr.  I  do  not  know!     I  only  know  he's  gone! 
That  is — I  understand  this  from  a  friend. 
As  I  am  travelling  f:ir  beyond  the  west, 
I  must  be  gone — and  bid  you  both  farewell.         [Exeunt. 

Con.  If  he  is  gone,  Eudora!  thou  art  happy? 

End.  My  soul  huth  made  firm  promise  unto  thee, 
On  one  condition — that,  is  this,  alone — 
And  if  thou  dost  not  take  his  life,  I  know, 
Thou  cans't  not  be  my  friend — 1  further  know, 
Thou  can'st  not  .bear  up  under  my  misfortunes! 
And,  if  tliou  cans't  not,  tell  me  now — Oh!  grief!  [Wtept. 


OR,  THE  DEATH  OF  ALOJttO.  51 

Con.  What  would'*!  thou  have  me  do,  my  dear  Kiidorm? 

Kwl.  I  tell  thec  now,  this  hand  dial!  ne'er  be  thine, 
Until  you  wash  my  misery  clean  with  blood! 

Con.  'Til  done,  a*  sure  as  said— hut  he  in  gone! 

^W.  (io— hunt  him  through  the  world'*  wide  range! 
Search  cv'ry  nook  and  corner  of  creation, 
And  Ic!  me  feast  mine  eyes  upon  his  Mood! 
And  I  will  smile  and  he  exceeding  glad. 
1  must  behold  his  life-Mood  on  the  blade, 
And  ThoiiKis  like,  must  touch  it  with  my  hands? 
'Tis  not  because  I  love  his  bl(M>d,  or  thirst  his  life— 
But  'tis,  because  he  was  unkind  to  poor  Kudora! 
Then  cavil  not  at  death— demur  at  nought; 
1  will  not  bear  mistrust — it  augurs  fear. 
I  would  not  have  a  coward  in  my  sight- 
I  do  detest  .such  bipeds,  with  my  soul! 
If  thou  dost  love  me  well — then,  risk  thy  life! 
And  manifest  it  in  this  injur'd  cause. 

Enter  A  LI- in:  n.     Conrad  meet*  him. 

Alfred.  Good  da v,  Kudora— Conrad!  art  thou  well? 

[.Shake*  hand*. 

Can.  Well,  1  thank  thcc— thou  art  from  Frankfort, 
friend? 

Alfred.  1  am. 

Con.  Then,  what's  the  news  in  town  to  day? 

Alfred.  Nothing— nothing  worth  your  while. 

Cun.  That's  all  well. 
And  has  no  person  left  of  late  > 

Alfred.  Not  one. 

foil.   Has  not  Alonzo  left! 

Alfred.  No;  not  he,  I  swear. 

(\m.  Then  Alver  '.s  told  a  lie— 'twai  all  a  joke. 

Alfred.  Joke  or  no  joke,  he's  there — I  must  be  gone— 
I  have  some  business  in  the  west— adieu. 

Con.  Then  let  him  go— who  cares?     I  do  not  care. 

[Exeunt  ALI  mi». 

Eud.  Now,  Conrad!  is  the  time— the  appointed  time. 
Get  you  a  mask! — go,  dress  yourself  in  Muck, 
And  during  the  election,  get  him  out — 
Then,  no  one  will  suspect  by  whom  he'i  kill'd! 
But  all  will  say  the  rival  party  did  it— 


£2       *  CONRAD  AND KV DOR A; 

i%-,   •  *. 

.  •  The  mob  political— fcgamst  hit  side !  V 

'Now  it  your  time— tbis  very  night — 'tis  dark! 

Con.  But  mark — we  must  tlisposc  of  all  we  havci 
That,  when  the  deed  is  done,  we  leave  the  state, 
;  And  not  procrastinate  our  speedy  flight; 
Lest,  that  prorogue  endanger  both  our  lives! 
Then,  I  must  leave  thec  to  attend  the  sale. 
Eud.  When  thou  dost  come,  bring  blood  upon  thy 

dagjrer! 

t  Dost  thou  not  kill  him,  see  my  fucc  no  more! 
Con.  I'll  kill  him,  if  he  have  the  life  to  lose. 

[Start »  uway. 
End.  Nay,  stay,— one  sweet  embrace  before  you  jyo! 

[£in  bract*. 

May  all  success  attend  you  to  the  end. 
And  when  thou  shall  return,  with  triumph  crown'd— 
I  will  be  waiting1  at  this  gate,  with  smiles— 
With  open  arms,  to  meet  thec  and  rejoice. 
Ueavcn  bless  you,  Conrad!  peace  be  thine,  my  love! 
Ccwi.  Once  more,  Kudora!— could  1  take  thy  smiles, 

They  would  be  piloU  through  this  stormy  sea. 

Eud.  Let  not  reluctance  weigh  upon  thy  purpose. 
Be  buoyant  as  a  turtle  on  the  wing. 
Let  future  happinesn  illume  thy  thought. 
Take  thou,  this  dove  into  thy  bosom's  ark, 
And  lift  thy  expectation  into' bliss. 
Had  I  a  strong  Herculean  arm,  by  heavens! 
I'd  ride  ambition  with  a  lightnings'  speed, 
And  furl  him,  with  his  foul  companion— dust! 
And  thou,  the  Neptune  to  my  soul's  wide  sea, 
Should  breathe  the  Adriatic  gules  of  love, 
And  fix  thy  trident  in  his  fai'hless  heart! 

Con.  The  *unhcams  of  thy  smiles  doth  vegetate 
Mv  heart — till  vigour  blooms  my  vermeil  cheeks. 
Thine  a/ure  lamps— twin  born  divinities! 
Illume  the  sanctuary  of  my  soul, 
And  turn  this  deed  to  sanctifying  light— 
While,  from  thy  sighs,  balsamic  odours  riti^ 
To  waft  luxuriance  through  my  courag'd  sou!* 
Perhaps,  my  love,  1  ne'er  may  see  t'lee  more! 
And  now,  before  I  go,  1  would  be&ccch  you-— 


fr  OR,  Tlltt  DEATH  OP  ALO5ZO*  J . 

'  If  any  portent  should  retard  my  speed, 
t  Be  firm  in  mind,  as  love  is  infinite—- 
The  best  of  Fingul's  heroes  speaks  to  thec! 
lie  looks  beyond  this  '>ltic  expanse  of  time,  ... 

Till  distance  makes  diminutive  his  sight ;  ^    ' 

And  not  u  thrill  of  pain  disturbs  the  calm! 
There  ham?*  a  iu>lemn  thought  above  this  heart 
This  citadel  of  mortal  life — beyond  all  hound*; 
Which  doth  inspire  me  with  :i  feeling  so  intense, 
That  infinite  makes  magnitude  of  self. 

Kud.   Conrad!  urt  thou  as  timid  as  thou  scem'ft? 

Con.   I  um  no  huge  glad'ator,  u  ithont  soul! 
A  man  may  have  his  purpose-,  and  still  feel. 
There  are  strange  m  xtures  in  this  chalice,  lifej 
And,  though  I  re  I  sh  half,  must  gulp  down  all! 
This  firm  pedestal,  on  the  which  I  .stand, 
Will  never  hold  a  monument  like  this! 
While  hope  o'crtop*  the  pinnacle  of  thought, 
And  looks  magnificent  in  loftiest  flight—- 
The cloud  of  conscience  has  cclip>'d  my  soul! 
While  nature,  frighten'd,  sluinht  rn  in  alarm! 
If  I  depart  from  thei — to-morrow  morn 
Shall  wake  thee  with  a  dawn,  UIIH  en  before! 

AW.  What! — after  thou  hast  fastened  on  hit  heart, 
And  earth  grow  pregnant  with  his  hlood? 
And  meet  it  as  the  river  meets  the  sea* 

COM.  The  overture  may  echo  back  the  deed! 
As  thunder  travels  on,  from  eloud  to  cloud! 
(food  nii; lit  to  satisfaction  infinite! 
If  thin  should  be  the  sequence — 'hen,  pood  night! 
Harmonious  tones  of  Wonderful  despair, 
Would  drive  out  melody,  and  jar  thy  soul! 

/,W.  Why  steal  'ruin  tune,  that  which  thou  canal  not 
pay  > 

fort.  I  woidd  thou  had'st  some  instrument  to  play. 

/.W.   1  want  no  in-;rument,  but  thy  intent. 

!\m.  i'an  fane*'  jienetratr  that  nui/.y  morn, 
Wh'"*!;  dawns  o:.  t!iy  expectaney^ 

Ktuf.  My  fancies  tell  me  thou  can'st  melt  that  maze! 

Con.  I  Kin  upon  an  embassy  of  deepcbt  crime! 
The  angel's  minister — but  do  no  more! 
And,  in  the  night'*  profoundcst  solitude, 


I 
,64  CONRAD  AND  Ef  DOR  A  J 

;     V  > 

Whcft  At»*  with  his  fond  Gahtca  lies,  ». 

I  will,*  on  ^Etna's  peak,  look  down  with  fire—       ,  ' 

The  harvest  of  my  hate  is  fully  ripe, 

And  all  his  vintage  trod  beneath  my  feet!  ,, 

Eud.  Lives  there  a  desolation  in  thy  heart,? 
Affection  has  a  toilsome  journey  through — 

Con.  Then,  he  must  die!     Sec  how  this  lion  sleept! 

[/'«•/«  hit  dagger* 

This  Morpheus  h*s  a  lion  for  his  pillow!  , 

Hut,  when,  from  slumber,  I  »hall  say,  awake!  [Drawtit. 
The  very  strings  of  nature  shall  crack  loose! 
And  then,  the  poppy  that  hhall  drowse  his  blood, 
Shall  make  life's  languid  hold,  let  go  of  self. 

Eud.  That  sleep  should  be  his  soul's  divinity i 
The  tribune  be  his  grave— a*  1  his  slave! 
And  thousand  times  ten  thousand  devil*  friends! 
Through  all  the  dark  compartment*  of  his  heart, 
Shall  darker  midnight  meet  eternal  gloom! 

Can.  Then,  fond  limit  MM!  lov'd  by  me  so  well, 
I  will  be  dutiful  to  thec,  who,  lend'st 
Unto  my  future  life,  endearment  dear. 

[Hinlirucra  her  and  leave*. 

Eud.  Jlltmt.     Now,  I  must  bid  adieu  to  joy  uijain, 
Until  he  comes.     Oh!  how  1  do  mistrust. 
1  will  not  close  mine  eyes,  this  blessed  night- 
No— not  until  that  sacred  pledge  be  seal'd{ 
And  this  proud  heart  to  him,  alliunced  be! 
Then,  when  the  morning  dawn  shall  wake  to  light, 
My  soul  shall  radiate  misfortune's  nitrht.  {Exeunt  Eudura. 


SCENE  \\.-Frankfort—  Time,  jl/if//j  /£*/—.  Conrad  en- 
tern  frttm  the,  luccrnt  wtilk*  the  */rf«7,  dramcd  in  dark 
clothe»t  with  a  maxyuc  on  his  facet  andt  with  difficulty  t 
finds  Jlnuzt'a  hmme. 


Co.x  m  AD  with  a  papur  in  his  hand. 
This  is  a  cunning  cU-cd  —  like  all  such  deeds) 
This  very  deed,  perhaps,  may  save  my  life! 
We  cure  diseases  by  revulsion  —  build 
Up  action  in  a  part,  by  causing  parts 
To  act—  This  deed  may  be  my  warmest  friend, 


OH,  T1IB  HEATH  OP  ALONZO.  65 

"Tin  thus  through  life,  one  deed  blots  out  another, 

As  poisons  ncutrali/e  by  antidotes. 

This  is  my  aim.     I've  sought  the  clerk  three  times, 

A  lid  still,  I  have  not  found  him  at  his  home. 

"Twas  my  desire,  when  first  1  came,  to  have  % 

This  deed  recorded — first,  that  it  might  hide 

Suspicion,  and  be  evidence  for  guilt— 

Therefore,  record  a  deed  to  do  a  deed! 

A  deed  recorded,  hhall  excuse  a  deed.— 

And,  if  the  crime  of  murder  be  found  out— 

As  most  of  murders  are— in  spite  of  proof, 

"Twill  bring  me  out,  by  law,  a  guiltless  man. 

Now,  if  I  had  some  friend  to  lure  him  out. 

While  I  could  strike  the  recreant  dead— hut,  hark! 

In  such  a  deed,  we  could  not  find  a  friend. 

Now,  if  the  watchman  find  me  out,  this  masque 

Shall  be  thrown  oil— I  may  be  thought  a  slave!  -      * 

You  see  this  hat — this  very  hat,  I  found  [Takriuff  hUhal. 

Two  hundred  miles  away — beside  a  wood—  ,  «       * 

I  took  it — left  one  dollar  in  its  place,  ,  • ' . 

And  said,  old  hat — thou  art  my  humble  friend! 

For  ought  1  know,  this  was  a  preacher's  hat; 

How  long  he  may  have  fought  against  the  devil, 

AnU  still,  in  his  achievement,  fail'd  at  last. 

Now,  when  I  put  it  oil',  should  it  be  worn 

Again— 'twill  only  consecrate  the  head, 

That  'ncath  this  crown,  may  say — the  devil's  dead! 

[(iocs  fo  n  wimlutn  nn<t  hn>kx  in— but  tftn-g  nut  find  him. 
I'crhaps  that  is  the  place — and  I  mUtake. 
Tis  true—the  sign — the  sign — the  doctor's  sign! 

[  Ijtttks  ttjt  a  ml  r  rat  Is  the  liipt. 

This  is  the  place, — and  F  mu>t  change  my  name. 
[(/of*  to  t/if  t/imr  nni/  kiutrk*.    /'///*  In'*  /mutt  in  hi*  ttofom. 
.7  j "finale  ifi/rt1  i»  In  tin/  trithin—t/tr  wife  uf  .ilnn:o. 

Jlngtlint.   \  would  not  venture  out  this  time  o  night— 

[Conrad  knuck*. 

.Honzo.  Who's  there' 

C<m.     A  friend.  • 

Jt n gtlinc  irit/i!/i.   I  would  not  venture  out,  my  love! 

.J/un.   Why,  Angeline! — thy  fears  are  woman's  love. 

[AVwcfo  again. 

/7A//1.   Who  is  that'— speak  out*  / 

Urn.  Durby— 'tis  tliy  triend!  f 

i 


56  CONRAD  AITD  IUDOHA; 

He  HAS  tome  bimmcm  with  tW— *ti*  of  wetjrlit! 
Han  lign'd  a  bond,  and  tlioti  nuut  seal  ilic  deed! 
What  dors  lie  say  > 
Indeed  1  do  not  know— you'd  better  sec. 

[  Knoflf*  tii^ain  and  luokt  round. 
.lion.  Who  can  this  be— HO  late  at  night? 

<  [Open*  t/ie  dtntr  and  *tcp*  back. 

Con.  Rehold!  [Throw*  of  hi*  majtijuc  ami  take*  him  by 

the.  t /trout. 

Look  in  my  face,  and  call  my  name? 
Alon.  Conrad!— Conrad!  "do  not  kill  me,  have  mercy! 
Con.  Where  is  my  wife?  now,  villain!  die — die — die! 

[Stub*  him. 

Now,  pray!— if  thou  can'.st  pray,  now  nray — now  die! 
Now,  drink  the  wormwood  which  Kudora  drank. 

[MtiM/ti  him.    Jltunzo  diet. 

[  Conrad  ru*he*  out  and  Is  *ern  no  more.  Angelinc,  .'Jlonzo't 
wife,  run*  in  the  rotimt  *rr<-,////>,  ami  full*  it/ton  hi*  brctut. 

dm*.  'Tin  he — *tU  he — Conrad  has  kill'd  Alon/o! 
Oh!  my  husbiuul!  my  husl>:nul!  thou  art  dead! 
'TU  he — *ti»  he — llie  wretch  has  kilPd  Alon/.o! 

[7*he  doctor,  »f/o/iro*»  brother,  ruth  fa  hi,  crying,  murder 
—murder!  Watchmen  and  citizen*  ruxh  in,  crying,  mur- 
der—murder! Jllonzo't  dead!  *llon:o'*  dtad! 

Citizen.*.  Who,  under  (!od'»  heavens  could  have  done 

thii  deed? 

•fine.  *Ti»  he— 'lin  he !  Conrad  has  kill'd  Alonzo! 
Hatch.    Who  did  it?    speak!    itpeak!     Conrad   kill'd 

Alonzo? 

Ang.  Conrad — *twa»  Conrad,  kill'd  my  husband !  dead! 
Oh!  death— death— death!  what  will  become  of  me! 
Doctor.  Did  you  see  his  face  ?  my  (itxl!  1  know  'twas  he! 
Ang.  I  saw  his  face — I  heard  hi*  voice — he's  gone! 

[dngelinc  ft  tin  hi*  iml*e,  white  the  rc*t  look  round. 
Oh!  my  husband— my  husband— «leath — death! 
Speak,  Alon/o!  *pc:ik  to  Aujceliue— <lcalh!    [A7.t«  him. 
Oh!  speak  one  word,  and  till  me  who  it  wa«i> 
No  pulse — my  husband'*  dead! — he's  gone!-— he's  rone! 
[fuintt  away  on  hi*  breast.      The  watchmen  tind  eiti- 
zen*  take  her  into  an  adjoining  room,  bt<trin^  her  husband 
with  her — asking,  who  could  hti<c  kilkd  him ?   Speak,  .tf/i- 
gclint— *pcak.— Curtain  fall*. 

LM>  or  ACT  in. 


OB,  THK  DEATH  0V  ALO5SO.  .        67 


ACT  nr. 

8CRNR  I.—  Frankfort.     Time,  morning.     7%t  Doctor, 
brother  of  Jlonzo,  theriff,  guard*  and  citizen*  meet 
the  tavern  where  (\ntrud  ,- 


Sheriff  to  the  Innkeeper.  Did  you  not  hear  Alonzo  was 

Innkeeper.  Dead!  [dead? 

iS'Arr.  Some  savage  person,  murdered  him,  last  night. 

Iiikeep.  KdlMhim!  was  he  murdered!  merciful  heavens! 
I  never  heard  the  like  in  all  my  life. 

fiber.  He  wan  stubbed  about  the  seventh  rib,  and  died! 
And  'tis  my  duty  to  investigate 
And  find,  with  speed,  who  that  vile  villain  was. 

Inkrep.  Yes,  certainly  'tis. 

Sher.  "We  are  requested  to  inquire  of  you, 
Who  tarried  here  lust  night? 

Inkerp.  1  do  not  know.  [Point*  to  the  bar. 

There  is  the  register  —  find  out  his  name. 

Xher.  Yes,  here  it  is.     Now,  lead  us  to  his  room. 

Innkeep.   He's  gone!  —  gone  long  ago!  he  left  by  light!  ' 

fiber.  Then,  let  us  search  his  room.  * 

Innkeen.  Was  he  the  man? 

Alter.  *Tis  said  he  was  the  very  man! 

Innkeep.  Who  saw  him? 
*Tis  best  to  weigh  the  thing—  not  be  too  sure. 

Dottvr.  He  was  the  very  man! 

Innkeep.  How  do  you  know? 

fhct.  Alonzo's  wife,  sir,  SHW  him  do  the  deed. 

Innkeep.  Where  was  lie? 

Ihct.  In  the  room  adjoining  hers. 
Rhc  said  she  heard  his  voice,  and  knew  it  well. 
But  there  are  other  things,  which  made  her  know  it. 
Alonzo  told  his  wife,  a  year  ago, 
lie  swore  eternal  vengeance  to  his  face? 

Innkeep.   Well,  well!  search  his  room—  'tis  all  no  use. 

Rher.  Where  is  his  room*  we  must  search  his  room! 

Innkeep.  Porter,  take  the  sheriff  to  Conrad's  room. 
(«S'/im/r,  Af/or,  and  citizen*  go  in  hi*  room  h  search. 

Innkeeper  to  Edgar.  'Tis  strange  Uut  Conrad  should  be 
such  a  man!  ,        • 


58  CONRAD  AND  Fl'noli  A  ; 

What  circumstance  has  led  them  to  suspect? 

A  milder  face,  than  his,  I  never  saw. 

He  drank  my  health  before  he  left  this  morning, 

And  hoped  the  governor,  who  rule*  the  state, 

Might  he  elected— jovial  an  you  please. 

I  do  not  understand,  why  they  suspect, 

That  Conrad  kilted  that  nun!  do  you  know* 

Edgar.  Why,  I  believe  Alon/.o's  wife,  sometime 
Before  Ilia  death,  oVrhcard  him  say,  'twas  bent 
To  leave  the  stale — that,  Conrad  threatened  death! 
Now,  1  believe  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  him. 
But,  'twas  a  tiling  long  looked  for,  by  them  both. 

Jnnkccj).  You  don't  say  so! — 1  never  beard  a  word! 
What  quarrel  bad  they?  they  were  always  friends? 

Edgar.  Yes;  they  were  friends,  as  far  as  I  have  known. 

liuikttp.  I  want  to  know,  then,  why  they  say  'twaa 

Conrad? 
I  never  saw  a  countenance  so  mild! 

Edgar.  1  always  liked  him — be  was  always  kind. 

Innktep.  They  have  no  cause  to  search  the  room  for 

Edgar.  Perhaps  they  have  some  cause!  [him! 

Jnnkttp.  What  is  that  cause  * 

.«      Ed  gar.  You  know,  about  three  years  ago,  Alonzo 
Paid  uii  first  addresses  to  Kudora— 

Innkeep.   Well! — now,  what  has  that  to  do  with  this 
case  ? 

Edgar.  That  is  the  very  thing  to  breed  a  murder!        *• 

Innkeep.  Then,  you  believe  that  Conrad  killed  Alonzo! 

Edgar.  I  should  believe  that,  just  as  soon  as  not. 

Innketp.  'Tis  strange,  that  you  believe  without  some 

proof! 
Did  any  enmity  exist  between  'em* 

Edgar.  I  do  not  know,  but  1  expect  there  did— 
Alon/o  did  not  act  the  gentleman! 

Innkecp.  How !  did  not  act  the  gentleman!— with  whom? 

Edgar.  \  bate  to  say,  precise,*— but,  things  arc  such, 
That  one  might  think,  that,  as  he  loves  Euilora— 
Knowing,  tJiat  dead  Alonzo  did  deceive  her! — 
One,  I  say,  might  think  that  Conrad  killed  him! 
I  know  what  1  would  do,  in  &uch  a  case.. 

Innkefp.  Did  you  say,  Alonzo's  self  deceived  her? 

Edgar.  'Tis  said,  he  did!— 1  did  not  see  him  do  it 

>' 


OR,  TflB  DEATH  OF  ALONIO.  69 

Junket  p.  All!  is  that  nil  >_wouM  you  believe  §uch  trash? 
He,  kill  a  niun.  because  1liut  man  deceived 
Kudora!—  'twas  her  fault!—  she  was  to  blame! 
%Vhv  dill  he  not  unite  \\ith  sonic  one  else? 

Kttgnr.   It  may  be  so,  and  like  enough,  I  guess*  • 

Such  thing*  exist,  that  death  's  the  only  means 
Can  give  her  satisfaction!-— thi*,   I  know. 

Junket  p.  There  is  some  part  I  have  not  heard— speak 
out! 

Edgar.  Alonzo  promised  marriage— did  deceive  her! 
Stole  her  virtue;  and  left  her  on  the  world! 

Jiinkren.  What! — he  did  not  ruin  Flvira's  child! 

Ktlgur.  So  says  the  world.— What  every  body  nay*, 
Of  course,  is  true. 

Jnnkeeu.  Then,  damn  him!— let  him  die's 

Edgar.  I  say  M>,  too!  I  would  have  done  the  same; 
I  say,  whut  Conrad  did,  wan  manly — right! 

Jnnkeeu,  What!   have  my  child* abused?  my  child!  my 

child! 

I'd  lose  my  life,  and  fifty  lives  beside, 
To  shield  "my  daughter  Iroin  a  gi'pii'if  world!— - 
He  should  have  killed  him  in  the  open  streets. 

Edgar,  lie  mute — the  hhcriiV  comes — we  must  be  calm. 

Sheriff  and  citizens  return  with  a  handkerchief,  found  on 

Conrad* »  Led. 
Sheriff.    Look  here!  behold  this  handkerchief,   and 

weep! 

This  hunderchief  was  left  upon  h:s  bed! 
Look  at  this  living  htain,  and  read  his  guilt! 

[.v//oir*  tin-  Lloud  on  the  handkerchief. 
Now,  who  would  a&k  for  better  proof  than  this? 
Behold  the  very  cordial  of  his  heart! 
Sec,  where  the  savage  wiped  his  dagger  on  it! 
And,  trutl),  to  shame  the  devil,  left  it  here! 
This  works  materially  to  his  disgrace. 

Doclvr.  Give  it  to  me — it  shall  be  evidence  in  court. 

[He  taken  it  and  cut*  it  with  hit  knife. 
Behold!  look  here! — the  villain's  name's  upon  it! 
See  where  the  dagger  pierced  it,  as  'twas  wiped! 
Oh!  my  brother!  (weeps.) — Let  him  travel  crosi  the  sea, 
But  I  will  find  him— justice  sluJl  be  dealt! 


60  CONRAD  AND  KUDoR AJ 

Now,  Mr.  Sheriff,  you  have  neon  thi*  blood! 
I  do  adjure  you,  by  tin-  sorrow  which  I  feel, 
To  deputise  to  ynur  men,  and  bring  him  bacl^— 
'Ti»  but  un  evening'*  rule  to  where  lie  live*. 
Then,  by  my  oath,  invented  in  thU  writ, 
You  bring  him  buck,  if  ho  in  in  thin  world.— 
Oh!  my  brother!  my  brother!  dead  und  gone! 

[  1 1  fry M,  ffilff  £OM  <M4/. 

»S/tar.  Now,  men!  if  you  arc  men,  be  firm  of  heart. 
\Ve  must,  by  law,  by  order*,  which  you've  heard,— 
Pursue  the  murderer — bring  him  buck,  in  haste. 
Therefore,  1  summon  all  around,  to  aid. 

Innkefjt.   \  would  not  poison  such  good  nature,— will 
You  bring*  a  just  man  here,  to  judge  him  just  > 
He  did  what  you,  and  I,  und  ull  had  done! 
Iwo\dd  have  tracked  him  through  white  Kcmhla'f  mows, 
And  Uack,  from  thence,  throughout  Arabia's  Hands— 
By  heavens!  1  say,  he  acted  like  a  man!   [\\\uvs  his  hand. 
A  child 's  a  tiling  so  near  a  father's  Nt-lf, 
He  would  not  see  her  harmed! — and  think  you,  sir, 
I'd  have  a  wife,  and  know  she  had  been  harmed—- 
Live with  her*— love  her — fold  her  in  my  arms— 
And,  like  an  easy  coward,  mope  all  day, 
And  sleep  all  night,  and  her  seducer  live?— 
Thou  urt  no  man! — tliou  art  a  thoughtless  fool! 

MfT.  Come,  men!  'tis  time — we  must  obey  the  law. 
We  have  no  use  for  such  a  man  as  thai1    [^uinting  to  the 
Junket  per.      Exeunt  ahtrijf  and  hi*  guard. 

Edgar  to  the  Iiinkctper* 

\Vc  have  done  wisely,  in  a  twofold  sense. 
But,  mark  me!  did  )ou  not  observe  that  skill* 
That  man  who  cut  the  'kerchief! — mark  his  oath! 
He  docs  not  know  that  Conrad  killed  his  brother—- 
Any more  than  you  or  1 — he  only  thinks! 
We  all  may  think — but  thinking  will  not  do!— 
He  knows  one  thing— he  knows  three  things—- 
And these  three  things — all  Frankfort  know*! 
That,  dead  Alon/o  treated  her  unkind — 
Deceived  her,  in  the  utmost  of  her  hopes! 
And,  more  than  all,  he  takes  it  home  to  self; 
And,  though  Uc  feel*,  were  he  in  Conrad'*  place- 


OR,  THE  DEATH  OF  ALOXZO.  61 

HcM  do  the  name  —  still,  he  must  have  revenue! 

And  mure,  to  change  preHiimption  into  truth, 

Ho  make*  old  circumstance  look  young— 

|<ubs  tip  the  turuished  brain  of  bygone  guilt, 

And  holds  it  in  tin-  sun,  as  golden  truth. 

He'*  ri^'ht,  and*tl),  he's  wrong  —  I'll  tell  yoti  why- 

Ik1  Hliould  not  ste.d  fnuii  truth,  to  make  truth  ricii. 

Should  hi-  ha\c  pierced  that  wh;ch  was  never  torn*.. 

No,  no!  he  may  do  woi>e  —  tear  Conrad's  heart! 

Now,   he  will  swear  that  handkerchief  wan  cut, 

Aiul,  that  the  rent  was  nude  h\  Conrad's  dagger! 

Therefore,  coiuleiiincd,  or  not  condemned—  hv*s  wrong! 

Iiinkrrji.   How  many  ways  to  kill  a  do^c  beside  hanging. 

/iVjrijr.   Perhaps,  it  was  a  party  inoh,  at  last! 

Innkirp.   I  wish  it  so—-  for  Cour.nl  ix  a  man- 
He  is  a  man  amongst  a  thousaml  nu-n! 

AV/^/r.   (iood  day!   1  wish  you  well. 

.  Tin-  haute  to  you.  [AVfun/  omnft. 


SCKNK  If.  —  .^  cttthifzf  in  I  fie  country,  whrrr  Rttdora  //net. 
iS'Af  i«r  #laniling  at  the  ^<//<'»  twitting  fur  L'unrtid  to  return. 

l-'.miuru.    I.OMLC  haxv  I  watehi'd  for  him,  but  all  in  vain! 
I  saw  the  sun  m>  down  —  then  rise  a^ainj 
And  now,  'tis  almost  nit^ht,  —  lu*  lias  not  come! 
Sure,   if  lie  (Iocs  not  i  omi*  ere  ni^lit  ivturns, 
My  heart  must  (juile  inisp\ct  'ti.>  now  so  wi-ak!— 
Conrtid  rclurn*t  rm/nxtti  /.'</<A//v/,  untldtr  full-tin  httaruit* 

Co/i.   Kudora!  tho-i  art  >afr—  be  happy—  smile! 
AVeep  not,  my  love!  my  wife!  —  thoii  art  my  wife! 
Then  weep,  witli  teai-s  of  joy,  for  he  is  gone! 

AW.   Oil!  Conrad!  Conr.ul!  —  have  you  let  him  go? 
Where  is  the  v.lla  11  gone1  —  oh!  tell  inr,  quick! 

Co/I.    He's  j;*one  to  hell!  —  where  all  iK'duceit  go! 

I'lud.  The  serpent's  £one  again! 

Con.    He  has,   nty  love. 

Jtutl.  Then,  I  am  done  for  ever! 

COM.   Weep  not,  my  love!  tliou  hast  one  friend  on  earth. 
And  he  tlu'  strongest  of  all  friends! 

AW.  Then  m>!  [Discontentedly. 

The  love  of   all  thy  friends?  nay,  all  the  uoild— 
In  centered  in  thi*  one—  1  am  thine  all! 


62  CONRAD  AND  EV DO* A; 

Thou  art  no  friend  to  me!  oh,  no?  no!  not         [Wctpt. 

Con.  What!  will  thou,  in  the  face  of  heaven,  betray  me* 

Eud.  Betray  thee,  Conrad!  oh!  1  love  that  look.! 

•*  '     [IsK>kti  at  him. 

Con.  By  heavens!  my  practice  should  be  made  an  art! 
And  thou,  betrayer,  deceived!  to  full  like  [7xW. 

Thv  betrayer!    '  [Jwks  sternly  at  her. 

£ud.  Speak,— Did'st  thou  say  he  fell? 

Con.  Idid— I  say  he  fell! 

Eud.  And  is  he  dead? 

Con.  1  told  thee,  sweet  Kudora!  he  was  gone! 

Eud.  Thou  did'st— where  is  he  gone? 

Con.  Gone  down  to  hell!  [I'ointf  down. 

Eud.  Where  is  the  dagger?  let  me  see  the  blood  upon  it! 

Con.  Here,  by  his  friend,  asleep! — there,  let  him  rest, 
Like  wearied  child  upon  its  mother's  breast! 

Eud.   Did 'si  thou  inter  it  in  his  faithless  heart? 

Con.  I  did — but  disinterred  it  o'er  again— 
I  could  not  let  it  rot  in  Mich  a  grave! 
*Tis  best  to  let  it  sleep,  as  sleeps  the  sleeper! 
Lest,  showing  it,  thou  long'st  for  other's  blood! 

Eud.  There  is  no  one  on  earth,  whom  1  would  harm— 
I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  in  virtue's  head! 

Con.  Thou  would'st  not  harm  a  hair,  but  break  a  heart! 

Eud.  Ho\v,  break  a  heart,  my  love? 

Con.  'Tis  best  tike  cure! 

End.  Oli!  what  a  cruel  hoart,  to  forge  such  words! 
Oh!  I  would  die  for  thee,  ten  thousand  deaths! 

Con.  Thou  wilt  betray  me,  just  as  sure  as  fate! 

Eud.  Betray  thee  *  never!  never,  in  thU  world! 
Give  me  thy  hand,  my  love — look  in  my  fuce! 

*  . .   Con.  1  see  thy  face — thy  soul — thy  heart  and  life! 

*  Thv  soul,  and  eye,  and  heart  will  all  betray  me! 

AW.  If  thou  can'itt  prophesy,  keep  sorrows  dark! 

Con.   He's  gone!  I  could  not  help  itl-^oh!   he's  gone! 

Eud.  Then,  farewell  pride!  then,  farewell  hope  and  love! 
Farewell,  sweet  Conrad!  oh!  that  I  were  dead! 

Con.  Wake  np,  young  sleeper!  bringthy  deeds  to  light! 
And  set  thy  prisoner  free!  [Gratjj*  ki»  duggrr* 

Eud.   Forgive  me,  oh!  [A'/irr//i 

Con.  Look  at  this  dagger!— sec  it  for  the  last! 
Bee  how  tliat  angel  bright,  points  up  to  heaven!     [it 


OR  i    TU*  DEATH  OP  ALO^ZO,  09 

Bid  T  not  tell  thee  thou  wouldst  soon  betray  me! 
I  heard  thee  swear  thou  woukUt  be  true  and  kind. 

[Take,  her  hand. 

Honest  woman,  'tis  thy  nature,  *ti«  thy  life  ; 
Why  doi^  thou  not  behold  thy  friend,  "and  smile  f 
Kise,  secst  thou  not  upon  that  dagger,  blood! 
Look  at  it—  crimson  from  the  tide  of  life! 
'Tin  done!—  then,  1  am  thine,  and  thou  art  mine. 
Eud.  My  friend,  oh!  let  me  kiss  thy  life  away! 


How  dii  you  meet*  did  he  not  hurt  thee,  lore! 

Con.  liow  could  he,  when  I  killed  him  at  one  blow! 
And  when  he  ope'd  the  tloor  1  caught  his  throat, 
Then  said,  where  is  my  wife*  now,  villain,  die! 
And,  with  one  stroke,  1  brought  him  to  the  ground. 

End.  Then,  thou  art  safe-,—  -and  no  one  saw  thy  face? 

Con.  No  soul  on  earth  ;  'twas  done  in  dead  of  night  $ 
And  ere  he  died,  1  took  me  back  to  bed, 
And,  in  the  morning,  woke,  and  thought  of  thee. 

Kud.  Then,  thou  art  safe,  and  I  am  lull  of  joy. 

Con.  Hut  stay,  —  by  truth!  I  have  forgot  one  tiring,— 
My  name  is  on  the  handkerchief,  1  left! 

/,W.  Left  where,  my  love! 

Co/i.  Upon  the  bed  1  slept  in.  '    • 

AW.   He  not  disturbed,  —  that  will  avail  them  nought. 

dm.  1  am  disturbed  about  that  handkerchief: 
What  if  his  brother  find  it!—  he  will  swear 
He  saw  me  have  it  there! 

A'uJ.  I  reckon  not. 

Con.   He  has  a  thousand  frirnds  would  swear  the  same! 

/.W.   Ah!  would  they  perjure  truth  and  honesty? 

Co/i.  They  would  perjure  neither,  but  ihcm»cl\  cs.       «• 
No,  sweet  Kudnra!  if  1  um  molested,  .« 

My  only  recompense  is  thee,  thou  dove! 
Then  let  us  go,  we  must,  through  life,  be  one. 

They  enter  thc.cdtiag+—are  married.     Enter  offteer  and 
guards  t  to  t^.    him.     Officer  goes  to  the  gate  and  calif. 
Sheriff.  JIuJUo  there,  Conrad!  come  thee  out  this  way! 
**   **"      [/JWora  olid  Conrad  come  to  the  dour* 
'  Kud.  Do  not  g*>,  my  love  I  they  arc  your  enemies. 
Shcr.  Sweet  kuly!  we  arc  all  his  friends,  as  thine. 


64  CONRAD   AND  EUDOHA  J 


Thou,  friend!  I  would  have  thee  for  my  fnend. 

Shrr.  W.e  wish  to  speak  with  Conrad—we're  hU  friends. 

Con.  What  would'st  thou  have  with  me> 

Officer.  But  one  kind  word. 

Con.  They  have  no  proof,  my  love!—  'tis  best  I  go! 

[Jttidc  to  Eudora. 

For,  if  I  stay,  you  know  they  may  suspect  me! 
'Twill  lend  them  argument  to  new  suspicion. 
They  know,  my  love!  he  did  thy  virtue  wrong-. 
That  heaven  should  have  chastised  him  long  ago! 
That  it  bchoov'd  me  to  defend  thy  shame! 
They  kill  mistrust  by  heaping  guilt  on  me— 
Thereby,  acknowledge,  hlimllv,  all  his  guilt. 
Tis  best,  perhaps,  1  go—  be  calm,  my  love! 
And  1  will  come  back  free,  and  love  thee  still,    [lit  goei* 

Off.  Conrad!  here  is  a  writ  1  wish  youM  read. 

[Hand*  him  a  paper. 
You  know  my  duty,  as  a  man  in  office-.— 

Con.  This  is  a  writ  accusing  me  of  murder!        [Itcadi. 
Tis  strange!  I  do  declare!  —  who  swore  to  this? 

Off".  His  name  is  signed  below  —  there,  you  can  ice! 

Con.  The  liar's  name's  not  worth  my  guiltless  search  I—- 
What would'st  thou  have  me  do.' 

Off.  Go  back  again! 

Con.  That,  1  will  never  do,  while  I  have  breath! 
.      Off.  That  argues  guilt! 

Con.  I  value  not  your  thoughts. 
They  are  but  wind  —  they  come—  and  then,  they  go! 

Off.  You  know  my  duty,  Conrad!-—  do  you  not? 

Con.  1  do!—  and  know  my  duty  as  a  husband! 

Off.  We  all  are  subject  to  the  Uw. 

Con.  I'm  not!— 

I  am  not  subject  —  never  will  I  be! 
*      Off.  Do  not  persist  —  we  must  obey  the  !iw! 

Con.  Obey  just  what  you  please  —  1  care  not  what! 

[DitdainfuUy* 

Off.  This  argues,  man!  not  only  fear,  but  guiltl 
Twas  said,  thou  would'st  refuse!-  then,  why  not  go? 

Con.  Because  1  liave  a  stronger  tie  to  atay  ! 

Off.  But,  if  the  law  requires  your  presence,  50? 
Why  not  give  absence,  sir,  your  ties  to  hoiJ, 
Until  your  brief  return  .?—  we  all  have  v/;v;9     ; 


OR ,    THE  DEATH  OP  ALONZO.  .  '  65 

At  home!— still,  we  are  here!      * 

Con.  My  wife  it  ill! 

Off.  There  st amis  your  wife— we  see  that  §hi  is  kind!^?** 
We  love  her  kindness,  and  admire  your  love!  > 

And  she  is  willing  you  should  yield  to  law?  ; '  < '•" 

End.  No;  1  am  not!  and  he  shall  never  go! 

Off.  Sweet  lady e!  we  arc  ull  his  friend*,  as  thine! 
We  wish  to  act  as  wisely  us  we  can. 

Con.  Then  act,  and  act— I'll  die  before  I'll  go! 

Off.  We  wish  the  truth  unfolded  to  the  world. 
'Tis  that  for  which  we  came — for  which  we  live; 
And,  if  you  still  persist — thou  art  the  man!  [JJointt  at  him. 
And  we  arc  bound,  by  law,  to  take  you  buck. 

Con.  Then,  take  me  back!  1  will  not  pro— stand  back! 

[J)rawt  hit  dagger. 

Off.  Sieze  on  him,  guards — now  take  him — take  him    • 
back 
[He  thrown  them  off,  and  Eudora  niahn  between. 

Eud.  Oh!  Conrad!  Conrad! — these  are  thine  enemies! 

Con.   Stand  oft'! — approach  me  not— else  thou  shalt 
die ! —  [  I'ointt  to  tfie  officer. 

As  many  more,  as  I  have  power  to  kill. 
Thy  mother  bare  thy  father  no  such  sons! 
Thou  hast  no  brother  with  so  proud  a  heart! 
Thy  brother  no  such  brother  as  I  am. 
1  am  a  lion  'mongst  a  thousand  men.  • 

Encounter  no  such  man — 'twould  be  a  shame! 
\fhcn  storms  arc  rajr-ng,  and  the  winds  blow  high, 
The  talletit  trees  bend  lowest  to  the  ground; 
And  I  would  spill  thy  blood  on  earth,  like  rain! 

Off.  We  would  not  harm  thee — all  we  want  is  justice! 
We  must  abide  by  what  the  law  invokes  I—- 
The writ  demands  thy  body  back  to  court. 

Con.  What  if  thou  could'st  not  find  me  >  go  back  cmptv^ 

[  Tauntingly. 

Oh!  what  a  vacuum!— thou  hadst  better  fill! 
Choke  up  existence  with  some  useful  thought; 
And  learn  your  motley  calves  obedience! 

[I'oint*  at  the  guard. 

Off.  Thou  art  no  common  man — then,  use  thy  sense.  •* 

AW.  Oh!  Conrad!  do  not .hear  that  half  starved  wolf. 
He's  murdered  many  a  lamb  in  nature's  fold; 
»,.  G 


00  '        CONRAD  A!fD  ETJDORA;  ^ 

And  lonfri  thy  life,  as  doth  a  mink  for  blood. 

Off.  Come,  let  me  speak  with  thce  alone — 'tis  best! 

[Kudora  hulds  Conrad. 
Eud.  Noj  they  will  kill  thce,  by  the  way,  my  love! 

[  lYccpt. 
Off.  Nay,  gentle  ladyc!  we  are  not  so  savaurc. 

[Officer  whiif/jcrti  to  Conrad. 
Con.  Weep  not,  my  love!  'tis  best  that  I  should  go. 

1  am  as  safe  a*  truth,  us  clear  as  heaven! 

One  sweet  embrace!— now  calm  thy  gentle  heart! 

[Embrace n  her. 
Farewell,  Eudora! 
Eud.  When  wilt  thou  return? 
Con.  To  morrow  morn!  to  morrow  morn,  my  love! 
Off.  Tis  best,  a  thousand  times  the  best — 'tis  ri^ht. 

[Exeunt  Eudora. 

Let  me  see  that  dagger  which  you  hold? 
I  do  not  a-sk  it,  to  educe  more  fears! 

Con.  I  have  no  fears!     I  do  not  know  the  term. 
There  is  the  dagger — look  it  black  with  gazing. 

[I funds  it. 

See'st  thou  much  blood  upon  that  burnish'd  blade  > 
Off.  We  thank  you  for  your  kindness — give  you  thanks. 

[Luoktatit. 

Guard.  That  dagger  made  that  wound,  as  sure  us  death ! 
Con.  Docs  that  man's  wound  resemble  daggers? 
Off.  No. 

Con.  They  should,  to  bear  your  definition  out! 
You'd  have  the  dagger  and  the  wound  born  twins! 
You  have  your  logic  ail  Corinthian  brass, 
And  prick  your  ears  at  nothing,  like  an  a**! 

Off.  I  say,  this  dagger  16ok*  much  like  that  wound. 
A  charitable  deed,  1  '11  take  tt  home.  [I'ul*  it  in  hit 

pocket,  with  the  htmdktrrhiff  wrajtcd  round  it. 

Turn*  to  the,  guard. 

Now,  if  the  prisoner  is  not  guilty  men; 
Then,  we  have  done  our  duty — and  tis  well;— 

[litre  Conrad  Attain  t/ie  daggtr  and  hundkircJiief  out  nf 

hit  pocket. 
But  guilty,  or  not  guilty,  who  can  tell? 

[Officer  Itad*  him  out.     Guard*  follow.     Euthira  returnt. 
Good  heavens!  1  could  have  wept  a  thousand  tears!— 


*  :*  OR,  THE  DEATH  OP  ALOlfZO.  B7 

Now,  we  commence  another  path  of  thorns! 

I  thought  mv  utmost  hope  was  tpicnch'd  in  blood; 

Hut  now,  I  fear  'twill  end  us  both  in  death!  [Wtfpt. 

Klrini  enter*. 

Oh!  mother!  he  is  gone — the  guard  is  gone! 
He  is  accused  of  murder — he  is  gone!  [J1*efp*. 

AYr/rw.   Kudora!  why  art  all  these  tcurs,  my  clu'M? 
AW.  The  guard  hath  borne  him  ofVto  prison! 
AYr/ra.   Oh!   calm  thy  fears — he  reconciled — they're 

friends! 

No  doubt  hut  he  will  come,  when  all  is  right. 
Thou  hast  shed  tears  enough!-— come,  let  us  home! 

[A'xfu/*/  AYr/ra  and  AWora. 

8CKNK  111. — .1  fourt  liottte  in  Frankfort.     Juc?$et  Law* 
ytr*t  Juryt  ll'itncs&tx  and  Citizen*  waiting  hit  trial. 

Judge.  Conrad  accused  of  murdering  Aloiuo! 
Jury  and  witnesses  are  sworn — proceed! 

J)arby  xptaks  fnr  plaintiff.      With  the  writ  in  hit  hand. 
May  it  please  your  honour! — I  would  speak  in  vain, 
Did  I  not  know  this  man  achievM  that  death! 
This  man  has  killed  a  statesman,  whom  we  loved; 
And  no  one  here  can  help  but  feel  his  loss. 
A  Ion /o  \vas  that  man! — you  knew  him  well!  , 

We  once  were  boys — he  had  a  noble  heart. 
He  would  not  brook  a  wrong,  to  clothe  -disgrace.  * 

1  never  knew  that  r:  u»  achieve  one  wrong. 
Jlut  he  was  prudvnt — honored — loved  by  all,—         ,.,     * 
And  none  said  ought,  to  stain  his  sacred  name!— 
That  he  was  killed  by  sonic  tinfricitdlv  blow—-  f 

The  weapon  and  the  wound  doth  testify! 
That  he  was  murdered  in  the  dt  ad  of  night. 
When  none  but  Clod's  all  seeing  eye  could  sec!— 
That  he  was  killed  by  C'ourad*s  iron  hands, 
Done  on  that  \erv  night  'ie  hwlg'd  in  town— 
\\  IIH  h  mouItU  siispieion  into  Hindi-led  truth—- 
Is, also,  suorn  to,  in  this  sacred  \vrit! 
There  was,  upon  his  bed,  a  kerchief  found, 
Impicrced  \vith  sneli  like  blade,  as  made  tin*  \\ound!— 
Ai.tl  more  than  all,  there  stands  Alon/.o's  \\ile. 
Clothed  in  dark  widow  -hood,  and  weeds,  that  mourn! 
She  saw  him  with  her  eyes,  and  heard  his  curse— 


68  COXA  A  D  AKD  EC  DOR  AJ 

Now,  the**  are  tnithn,  when  known,  must  make  us  feel  I—- 

Yes, ttir  the  recess'd  fountain*  of  our  soiHs— 

But  mark  !  before  1  let  one  witness  speak, 

Should  not  this  grand  tribunal  weep? 

Should  not  our  heart*  gush  out  respective  tears?—* 

Not  only  for  tliut  murderer's  cruel  fate, 

nut  that,  hy  your  ronlve,  through  conscience  sworn, 

Ilii  soul  shall  stand  at  that  tribunal—  heaven!— 

By  all  thai  i*  humane  and  dear  to  in  m— 

By  all  that  justice  and  religion  teach!— 

By  all  on  earth,  and  all  in  heaven  above, 

(With  all  the  evidence  1  may  adduce—) 

This  man  should  sufVer  unto  lav  fid  death! 

Judge.  Then,  cull  the  witnesses  and  let  them  speak. 


Darby.  Then,  Angcline!  btfpre  this  court  and  jury, 
Relate  the  most  you  know  of  tin*  imn'a  guilt. 
•Aug.  I  saw  Alon/o  fall,  and  heard  his  voice! 
Con.  Is  that  the  first  bad  tiling  you  saw,  that  night? 
My  husband!  —  then,  1  fell  upon  his  breast! 


Darby.  Relate  the  most  you  know  —  whether  or  not, 
You  saw  Alon/o  fall  hy  Conrad**  hand* 

.fug.   I  saw  that  bloody  rebel!  heard  his  voice!  [JVetpi* 

Con.   At  first,  she  said,  the  first  thintc  that  she  saw, 
"Was  poor  Alon/.o!  —  ah!   where  did  he  fall? 

AniZ.  lie  died  in  the  adjoining  room  from  mine. 

Con.  You  was  not  in  the  room  then,  where  he  fell? 
How  could  you  see  him  fall  hy  Conrad's  hand* 

.ffl£.  I  heard  him,  when  lie  stabbed  him  to  the  heart! 

Con.  May  please  your  honour!  —  innocence  can  plead, 
Without  disguise,  her  own  truth  telling  cause. 
There  is  no  truth  in  what  this  woman  swears. 
She  saw  me  not  —  this  needs  no  argument. 
The  ham)  kerchief,  which  they  suggest,  us  proof; 
The)',  no  doubt,  found  upon  my  bed  —  but  mark! 
i'  A»  true  as  you  are  judge,  tin  y'mude  the  rent! 
That  handkerchief  \\a»  sound,  when  I  return'd; 
^\nd,  its  to  blood,  there  may  have  been  some  blood; 
But,  from  no  mortal's  heart  on  earth,  but  mine. 
That,  poor  Alon/.o  fell  by  Conrad**  hand, 
That,  all  of  us  do  mourn  liis  sudden  loss,— 
That  he  was  bruvc,  and  kind,  and  good  to  man!— 


OR',   Til?:  DEATH  OP  ALONZO.  00 

That,  he  was  once  a  schoolboy,  full  of  fun  i 

Ami,  all  such  p£tly  argument  as  this, 

The  phantom  visions  of  a  moon-struck  hrain!—    . 

The  skv  horn  fancies  of  a  t  mi  tor's  soul! 

Choked  full  of  yellow  dust,  call'd  money  —  gold!— 

That  I  rose  early  —  left  my  kerchief,  '»  true; 

Hut  not  more  true,  than,  'that  I  always  <lo  it. 

That,  in  the  dead  of  night,  Alon/.o  fell! 

When  Home  life-taking  hand  drove  oil  his  soul! 

And  left  him  mortal,  in  the  stride*  of  death!—  * 

May  all  he  true!  —  which  I  will  not  dispute) 

Hut  that  these  things  wrrc  done  hy  Conrad's  hands, 

I  do  deny  —  because  they  are  not  proven!— 

There  is  no  evidence  beneath  yon  sun, 

Whereby  they  can  convict  me  of  this  crime— 

No;  they  are  dark  in  thU»  as,  was  that  night, 

On  which,  they  say,  thb  savage  deed  was  done! 

Tis  but  a  breath  of  air,  borne  on  the  winds, 

An  echo,  —  lost  among  resistless  clouds. 

Darby.   May  please  the  jury,  and  this  sapient  court!    y. 
That  justice  may  be  given  to  whom  'tis  due— 
That  life  may  forfeit  for  the  loss  of  life! 
That  human  passion  may  rich  lessons  learn- 
That  life-blood,  taken  from  so  good  a  man, 
And  sprinkled  on  the  thirsty  earth,  like  rain! 
That  morals  and  religion,  set  at  nought— 
That  night's  dark  widowhood  be  clothed  in  morn— 


That  sacred  love,  now  trampled  under  foot— 
And,  more  than  all,  that  heaven,  may  be  appeased! 
1  rise,  this  moment,  to  unfold  the  truth. 

Con.   If  there,  be  light  thrown  on  this  .simple  case, 
Thy  traitorship  will  make  each  credence  dark! 
The  world  has  borne  your  insults  long  enough}     ^ 
Thou  hast  been  privy  into  more  foul  deeds, 
Than  half  the  locusts  on  the  ancient  Nile!  • 

\  know  you  —  all  within  this  cro  wiled  court—    •  .,          %> 
And  each,  ami  all  have  known,  of  you,  no  good! 
1  tell  this  jury  ami  this  sapient  court!— 
And  all,  who  hear  me,  in  my  self-defence! 
That  you  have  robbed  your  clients  of  their  fees!— 
Tliat  you  have  yearned  to  filch  the  widow's  mite!— 
u  2 


.   .  .     . 

,J.  70  f  rovin!)  JniD  KUDORA; 

».*  ^i?".*        .•• 

Tnai  rou  tlMre  brought  poor  orphan*  into  want ! — 
(  AI  d'.d  Il4.it  man,  for  whom  you  lie  this  tUv-  )— 

/  •  </'um/f  ol  Aim. 

y<*,  thou  hMt  lic^n  A  traitor  to  ttiywlf! 
An  every  man,  who  uteuU  (mother's  good*!—- 
•     TKat,  for  a  little  glittering  »iull,  cidii'd  gold! 
TV Mcli  bargain*  many  a  in.  u  IHM  Nhuini'ltil  ilruth! 
Tlioii  liaxt  been  knuvirn  to  l>c:ir  £il»c  witncHU  ofl! 
And  no\v,  I  say,  a  atmn^cr  unto  love,— 
(And  wheh  a  man's  a  foe  to  fcimle  virtue, 
That  muu's  a  foe  to  t»«Jf,  io  God,  and  hcuvcn!— 
Whose  wonU  arcjieudacltcs,  which  distract  the  brain! 
"Whose  voice  is  mania,  and  whose  sunk1*  arc  clouds!) 
Will,  then,  thb  ^rand  tribunal  Ucir  such  noise  M- 

Judge.  As  Uc  u  not  arrui^nc^  for  any  crime,     • 
But  counsel  for  the  plaintiff,  in  this  cause,     * 
I  know  no  reason  why  he  should  not  speak;—  9 
Jf,  wlyit  he  suy,  be  fuhc,  the  court  .can  judge. 

ttarby.  Then,  sir,  the  nature  of  this  case  demands 
My  voice!— Look  at  Uiat  widow's  tears,  and  weep! 

•    '  [Tuinti  to  Jngclint. 

Look  on  that  ajfony!—  that  rooted  strife! 
Which  lifts  up,  into  heaven,  exalted  wo! 
Look  at  her  check,  bedewed  with  tender  tears!— 
1  sav,  Alonzo  was  a  noble  man — 

Con.  Not  if  you  judge  him  by  the  fruits  he  bore! 

Darby.  1  say,  Alonzo  was  a  man  of  loftiest  mind! 
A  statesman,  sir!— of  whom  we  should  be  proud—       ft 
A  gentleman,  acknowledged  from  his  youth — 

Con.  No  man's  a  gentleman  until  he's  twenty-one! 

Darby.  I  say,  Alonzo  died!  was  killed  at  night! 
When  all  was  silent,  not  a  star  did  shine— 

C<m.  The  absence  of  the  stars  can  throw  no  light 
Upon  this  c. or, —but  tends  to  darken  night. 

Dtirby.  lie  told  me  that  Kudoru's  wish  wat  •enlcdi 
t  „   And  through  tlve  chambers  of  his  heart,  incensed, 
•  "*C!ould  have  no  vent,  save,  with  AUyuo's  blood!— 
Now,  these  arc  things  which  touch  our  inmost  souls, 
WO  *t.>ti' i»nt  UK<I|  J«'i  1«'M  o!  III.  !      MO  hmr«>! 
'I  ho  k (\mUri*  hii'l  Mild  di»|»|i,i  I  ulltill  h»>  lthoWII| 

And,  ilihi;  u-nl  In  bnth,  in  hlmpo  mid  M/.I-,       « 
Do  not  accord  with  fucU,  as  with      ••  wound, 
With,  also,  ail  Oio  threats  exposed  to 


OH,  THE  DKATlf  OF  ALOFT  IO.  ^  *   «  '•       71  , 


Then,  all  I  'vc  said,  it  vain,—  untrue  and   a  . 

f  Dnrlnt  *MaJc»  lo  thi  Shtrijf. 
Then  bring  the  dnfrgtr  nnd  Ihr  'krrcliltf  herel  '• 
Thry  uliull  coiilirni  tin-  tniih*  \v1iYU  I  huvc  spoke*)     ' 

I  A'/r/  /-//T  *rarflir»9  bill  e/innot  J(i\A  them. 
I  hail  till  III  —  hut  1  run  not  find  thrm  Itowf 


, 
Con.  Now,  I  could  h;»y,  tic  ncvor  ha<l  mtrU 

But,  I  will  Mtate,  distinct,  IK*  hud  th*m  hollij 

And,  I  hinr.ci-fl  y  wish  he  hud  them  here. 

For,  hy  my  soul!  there  is  no  hlood  upon  'cm!— 

Who  swears  tint  hlood  came  from  Aloqao'n  heart? 

1  never  spoke  about  Alnn/o's  i^u'.lt. 

When  Alfrctl  told  me  of,Kudoru'<i  shame! 

I  told  Jiim,  1  believed  IjW  pure.us  truth; 

And  so  I  did!—  you  all  hafvt  proof  of  this! 

Hy  knowing  this,  1  hute<l  him  the  morel- 

Hut  never  did  I  say  tliis  tiling  to  man! 

Alfred  will  testify  to  what  I've  said—     [Print*  to  Alfred. 

Hut  this  is  not  the  point.  —  I  hope  thi«  court 

Will  not  sit  prejudiced  against  my  wife! 

Nor,  will  the  jury  balance  what  has  been, 

With  thing*  that  are,  —  in  such  immortal  scales! 

I  tell  you,  'tis  untrue,  as  God  is  just!  — 

May  every  hair,  upon  this  head,  turn  fiends. 

And  witness,  to  denounce  me,  white  as  snow! 

May  every  hcartstr'uiff  take  ten  years  to  break!  * 

May  each  kind  member  of  mv  hotly  writhe! 

May  palsy,  like  Kl\  mai's,  strike  me  blind, 

And  both  my  eye-bulls  glare  out  worlds  of  guilt!—  • 

May  all  the  winds,  and  every  freshening  breeze, 

In  wjiich  my  life  luxuriates  —  turn  storms! 

And  r-cry  good  turn  evil!  —  sweet  turn  sour! 

If  ever  such  un  utter  once  escupM  my  lips!— 

lhirl>y.   M.i)    please   the  court!—  I  have  one  witnew 

more—  (I'uiiilt  to  tl*  Doctor.    , 

There  is  a  tendril  of  the  same  dear  vine,  •     4 

From  which,  so  many  buds,  doth  yearly  spring1-*- 

i  n»  IN  tin'  Inii  Hurvlviiif^  nnim«  <th  r«Mh— 
e  rent  ate  gono  to  ivji  tintnnrly  jjuu  !— 
Con.  Where  all  tucU  traitors  uught  to  gt>t 


79  roNII \n<AM>  KI'DpRAl 

Ah!  I  have  rid  thro  of  a  wnrM  of  shame  >    ( 7h 

Jlngtltnt.  Oh!  them  lurd  hearted  wretch!  how  vile!— 
how  vile!  [ffrr/M* 

COM.  I  \vihh  I  had  some  team  to  quench  your  lire! 
You  have  no  nroof  that  I  huve  done  this  deed! 

Jkirln/.  Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  behold  Uiat  deed? 

/Jort.  IdUl! 

Con.  Where  wan  he,  when  you  Haw  him  lout? 

yAn-f.  He  left— naHMed  out  the  room,  nit  I  went  In! 

Con.  How  could  you  nee  him  in  the  dead  of  nij;ht> 

IM.  I  heard  him  run,  and  aUo  heard  him  Npeakt 

Con.  Thin  it  the  ne  pint  ultra  of  extreme*! 
This  prima  facie  look*  extremely  fair.          I Di*ilain fully, 
You  may  have  heard  a  !»or»e— or  Nome  huge  hea.it/ 
A  clap  of  thunder? — wiil  thi»  hanpr  a  manf 
If  tl»i»  lame  evidence  can  huiu^  a  man, 
CJood  hye  to  legislation,  and  her  UWH! 
America'*  no  more  tlio  lijcht  of  heaven!— 

7Arr/>y.    \Vc  have  one  evidence,  may  nleanc  the  court! 
\\'hieh  u  not  here! — to-morrow,  he  hh'all  come— 
The  handkerchief  and  da^er  HJiall  he  found ( 
And  then,  all  deutation  \\  ill  he  vain. 


From  I  lie  HO  Niii^etttion*  he  may  ^o  to  jail. 
COM.  •••  Then  you'll  he  deep  in  mud,  an  your  in  mire." 
Jut/tff.  Sheriff' !  take  the  primmer  hack  to  jail !_ 
Darby,  lio—     [Pointing  after  him. 

him  out 
Judge.  I've  heard  no  evidence  can  hang  that  man/ 

[Court  adjounu.     £xcunt  omns»» 

SCENE  IV.— TXe  9ubu>l*  of  Frankfort — Darby  mtttt 
y,  the  Doctor. 

•    Darby.  We  have  but  one  more  evidence  <m  carthi    '  » 
ABC!,  if  we  fail  in  this — tin  o'er— the  tiling  U  ?*onc ! 
And,  if  I  should  succeed,  ray  life's  at  stake! 
My  fee  must  be  proportioned  to  my  pains? 

Doct.  I  care  not  what's  the  fee — so  Conrad  dies! 

Darby.  I  know  a  man — a  poor  man — and,  *  fool! 
He'd  cut  his  throat  for  money— that's  the  man! 
But  mark!  that  man  is  Conrad's  warmest  friend! 
His  name  U  Arnold— he  may  take  &  bribe?— 


OR,  Til*  UKATIt  OP  AI.OM.O.  73 

I'll  promlno  him  two  hundred  pound*— he'll  nwrar! 
/A*-/.  'Tin  hest  do  what  you  cuu — he  killed  Ahmzo! 

[Skttkr»  handi. 

f      Air^y.  Now,  if  he  take  it,  'twill  he  well  and  tfood, 
And  il'lu'  dinner  ivl'iine— *tu  nil  tin*  name 
I'll  tell  ynu  what  I'll  do— I'll  make  him  swear— 
'Tin  benl  you  In-  not  MTU — I'll  work  it  ri^ht. 
/turf.   A  thoiiHund  pound*  fthall  he  your  |>  »)  — 
Jhtrby.   He  han,;««,         [Simla-*  InunU.     Illntnt  Doctor. 

r.nlir  AIINOI  ii,  »/•///•  n  lithr  in  hi*  Ituiul, 

/)<trt>t/,  (iood  tliy,  to  theo,  old  friend!— u hat '•  all  the 
lie  \\  N  >  [  V< uAc*  Au/w/i. 

I  have  not  neen  you  for  these  many  duyn!  < 

\Vhen  you  and  I  were  I>OVM,  we  were  ^oo«l  friends. 
Although,  you  were  not  rieh— I  did  not  cure— 
I  ulwuyn  like  u  frii'nd,  und  ne'er  forget  him. 
1  like  the  poor,  mtieh  hetter  than  the  rich—- 
The rieh  ean  ^et  alouj^,   you  know— the  poor, 
The  hest  wuy  that  the  \  ean — whal'M  all  the  new*? 

JrnnM.   \Ve  have  no  newit!  [htolm  at  the  tetter, 

Poor  Conntd'n  wile  in  niek! 

J)m-hy.   You  knew  that  Conrad  wan  your  vilcnt  foe*— 

.//•//.   Not  never,  in  th'iM  world!~-that  cunnut  bof 
That  man  ha<«  helped  me  in  difttreu! 

Jhirfit/.  That  may  he  *oi 
Uut  not  (»f  late  > 

Jtrn.  Oh,  yen  he  i.a«t  of  late— 

Darby.  Well,  well— that,  too,   it  well  enough— he*i 

changed!— 

You  do  not  know  what  use  arc  made  of  friemUj 
He  feeds  you  on  hin  money — mind  your  eyo! 
He  known  what  use  to  put  his  money  to—  .*•   .< 

He  buy*  hi*  own  salvation,  ut  your  low!  7V,:V. 

w?r«.  Why!  how'.-,  that? 

Darby,   lie  killed  Alonxo,  did  he? 

,7r//.   1  don't  believe  he  did — too  good  A  man! 

Darby    Ah,  ha — that  proves  what  1  have  said— now 

ma.-k !  •    ^ 

He  means  to  prove  you  killed  that  man  yourself.  1.  * 

•frK.  Wliv?  Iww?— good  hca%*tiw!  I  killed  Alonzo? 

Darby.  Tlic  blame'*  on  you — he'll  hive  you  hung  stone 
dead! 


i 

•  '* 


74  COX*  AD  AKD  Er  DO*  A  j 

Jfrn.  Good  heavens!  I  never  killed  the  man,  on  etrth! 

Darby.  That  may  be  true—but  such  wont  do  in  court* 
You  are  a  poor  man  —  you  have  no  rich  friends— 
You  cannot  fee  a  lawyer  —  tend  your  suit—          I 
When  dangers  come,  the  poor  man's  quite  forsaken!— 
And,  without  money,  nun's  a  scare-en.  w,  here. 

Jrn.  That  is  a  fact!  —  what  will  a  poor  man  do? 

Darby.  Well—  1  can't  tell,—  do  the  test  he  can. 

Jlrn.  Are  you  concerned  that  way? 

Darby.  Perhaps  I  may  be. 

rst  come,  first  served—  that  ••  the  way  with  me. 

,1m,  1  have  no  friend*!—  thought  Conrad  was  the  best— 

J)arty*  Well)  as  you  seem  to  be  an  honest  man, 

d,  V  expect,  quite  innocent  of  murder,  — 
V  I'll  undertake  your  case. 

tdm.  Then  here's  my  thanks—  [Bow*. 

He  bade  me.  give  this  letter  to  liis  wife- 
How  sorry  did  I  feel,  to  sec  him  weep! 
And,  when  he  wrote  this  letter  —  see  hU  tears!  [Looks  al  if. 

Darby.  These  Y«JT  tears,  my  friend,  arc  drops  of  guilt! 
He  did  not  like  to  die,  and  leave  his  wife  \ 
Nor,  did  he  like,  though  best,  to  have  YOU  hung! 
This  meeting  of  two  sorrows  in  his  soul, 
'  Broke  up  his  conscience—  which,  stood  forth  in  tears! 

jfni.  Is  it  possible,  so  good  a  man  as  he  — 
.  Darby.  So  good!  —  no  odds  how  good  a  man  may  be, 
Tis  not  his  nature  not  to  save  his  life  I—- 
Perhaps that  letter  hold*  some  scheme, 
"Whereby  he  means  to  Have  you  hung—  let's  ice— 

JJrn,  Lie  told  me,  &,  ,.e  peril  of  my  life, 
To  give  it  to  Eudorat—  no  one  else— 

iKarby.  Are  you  a  fool?  —  what!  die  by  your 

[TUfea  it  and  nodi. 

•  '  Kudora!  my  dear  wife!  I  would  be  with  thec, 
But  I  am  bound  in  chains!  —  yes,  iron  chains! 
There  is  but  one  resolve  can  save  my  life—- 
Our only  hope  now  rests  on  Arnold's  oath— 
If  he  wdl  swear  that  Darby  kill'd  Alouzo! 
•  f     Then,  I  am  safe—  if  not,  I  must  be  hung! 

If  you  are  not  too  sick,  come,  btay  with  me— 
Give  Darby  money,  and  he'd  sell  his  soul! 

Darby.  Give  Conrad  woman,  and  he'd  sell  hii  life. 


01,  THE  DEAJTII  OP  ALOXIO.  75 

Ther«,  take  it  to  bis  wife—  come  back  to  court* 
Be  thou,  her  friend  —  in  act,  but  not  in  need. 

[Exeunt  Arnold. 
Enter  Doctor. 
Darby.  Well,  I've  teen  our  friend-—  good  news—  good 

newt— 

Without  one  single  cent,  be  comet  to  court!— 
Doctor.  But,  what  if  he  turn  traitor—  what  comet  next? 
Darby.  By  heavens!  I  made  the  fool  believe  he'd  bang! 
That  Conrad  had  thrown  all  the  guilt  on  him! 
And  no  alternative  was  left,  but  this. 
But,  mark!  he  brought  a  letter  —  which  I  read—  , 

Directed  to  .Kudora—  'twas  a  plot—  .  •,..;•    *f 

Now,  mind!—  if  he  will  swear,  'twill  bang  them  both*    .  ^ 
Doct.  Then,  all  is  safe—  then,  come—  go  with  nw-honniX,.^ 

[Exeunt  omnet.  F 


SCENE  V.  —  Courthouse  in  Frankfort,  at  before. 
lawyer  tt  tfc. 

Darby  tpeakt.  May  please  this  court—  -we,  now,  bare 
evidence—  4 

Enter  Conrad  and  Eudara,  guarded. 

Now,  they  are  here,  the  tame  in  guilt  and  mind. 
The  unjust,  for  our  just  and  buried  friend! 
His  virtues  live,  although  his  heart  is  dead! 
May  all  pood  angels  guard  him  home  to  heaven. 
Here  is  one  witnevt,  which  the  court  shall  bear. 
Arnold!  did  you  not  bear  a  lette?,  scaled, 
home  time  ago,  to  Conrad's  wif<s?  . 

Arnold.  I  did.  ,   ^ 

Darby.  Then  tell  the  court  and  jury  what  was  in  H. 

jSniulJ.  A  bold  acknowledgment  he  killed  Alonzo! 
His  only  effort  was,  to  bribe  me  to  an  oath, 
And,  by  such  oath,  forsworn,  have  Darby  hung!  \ 

Darby.  Then,  may  please  this  court!  the  truth  is  toVL 
It  needs  no  glitter—  ornament  is  dross.'  ^ 

Then,  render  unto  virtue  what  is  due.  .>    •* 

By  all  the  tics  of  gratitude  amd  CATC,  *     « 

I  dedicate  him  to  your  charge—  the  rope.  . 

Con.  That,  now,  my  fate  it  scaled,  I  could  not  think, 


76  '    •  CONR  A  I)  AND  E  t'DORA  J 


Were  T  not  crushed  beneath  such  tiinful  men! 
>     And  this,  the  last,  of  such  Olympic  oaths, 
•*   '  The  greatest— worst  of  all— -oh,  man!  trail  man! 

*  When  thou  art  base — thou  art,  of  all,  most  vile!— 

t      There  stands  my  wife,  whom  I  have  m:ulc  my  heaven! 
Which  no  man  can  pollute,  however  false! 
A  woman  lovely,— lovint^m  the  extreme— 
Until,  insult  is  on  her  honour  thrown! 
From  that  bright  bush,  he  pluck'd  the  sweetest  rose 
TH-i  ever  bloom'd1 — whose  virtuous  sweets  he  stole, 
Then  spurn'd! — because  she  had  no  more  to  steal! 
They  knew,  her  virtue  was  a  heaven  of  love! 
A  sanctuary,  holy, — perfect, — pure ! 
And,  if  1  die,  1  die  by  bunds,  most  foul! 
And,  not  from  proof — for  they  have  none— not  one! 
Then,  swear! — as  1  have  liv'd,  so  let  me  die! 
That,  in  my  death!  my  soul  shall  love  but  one— 
That  only  one,  for  whom  I'd  live  or  die! 
You  have  been  auditors  to  deeds  most  foul! 
They  knew  Kudoru's  joy  was  mine — 'twas  life! 
They  knew  the  prize  wax  worth  ten  thousand  deaths! 
And  if  I  die,— my  death  sh:.ll  be  for  lo\r! 
JJarby.  The  jury  will  retire — here  is  the  writ. 

[/&«*#, 
You  know  what  facts  arc  stated!— then,  'tis  death! 

Judge  tu  I  fit  •/<"•,'/• 

You  nil  have  consciences  enswayed  by  hate—- 
Weigh  not  the  truth  in  scales  of  prejudice; 
Nor  cloud  it,  when  it  would,  convincing,  shine. 
If  what  you  've  heard  ppves*  your  minds  with  guilt, 
Then  he  Diust  die,  as  surely  as  he  lives. 
And  now,  1  charge  you,  by  the  \vorth  of  souls, 
When  you  retire,  be  rcconcilM  jun  one. 

['JJit  jury  retire,  tiitd  bring  in  the  vtrdict  death. 
Judge.  Then  Conrad!  it  behoove*  nit,  us  thy  judge. 
To  say,  thou  art  condemned,  and  have  to  die!— 
May  heavenly  angels  guard  thee  to  thy  home! 

kudura.  Hast  thou  no  voice  to  speak  the  same  to  me* 
-v* Shall  Conrad  die!  and  I,  hi«  being-,  live' 
l  £*1  once  had  tears,— I  have  <lo  sorrows  now!— 
U   Tliis  lord  of  my  soul's  herrtu^e  must  <lie  ? 

•  Why!  if  my  heart  be  his,  both  die  in  one! 


OR,   THE  DEATH  OP  ALO5JO.  77 

The  body  ve  may  kill*  but  not  the  sool?— 
How  has  this  man  become  the  slave  of  men? 
Because  he  could  not  brook  that  aorc  disgrace! 
AV  hy  was  this  valley  maid  thr  acorn  of  maids? 
ItccauHc  that  buried  villain  stole  her  virtue! 
He  smiled  umid.it  the  cold  disdain  of  men- 
Opened  his  biH»om,— l:iid  me  down  his  heart, 
And  called  my  soul  there, — where  I  lov'd  to  lirc| 
Then,  let  us  die  united— ilcath  b  sweet! —  •   * 

[Embraeethim. 

Then  go— farewell!  thy  wrath  on  me  is  done!     [Ifffnt. 
Oh!  let  me  ^0— without  him  life  is  death!  [7l»  the  Judge* 

Judge.  Yes,  Lulyc !  you  can  go,  if  'tis  your  wi»h. 

£ucl.  I  swear  this  heart  .shull  not  0unrive  his  d.^ith! 

(Ojfuxr  guards  him  out  loprixm* 


KID  Of  ACT  I?*/ 


II 


•;_  . 


78  .  OONXAD  AlfD  XU1K&J 


AOTV. 

•«    '.. 

SCENE  I.'-vf  Jrnl,  in  which  Conmd  it  chained,  white 
Eudara  if  leatiing,  with  one  hand  on  hit  shoulder, 
weeping. 

Con.  Eudora!  darkness  pit  hen*  rot  i  ml  my  head! 
"What  gloom  is  this  >—  oh!  that  I  were  in  heaven! 
Look  at  these  hands  —  these  tender  hamls  —  all  chained! 
As  if  my  heart  found  music  in  their  links! 
Am  I  not  Chi  lion's  prisoner?—  Tanso's  friend? 
Hear  how  they  sing  my  rcnuiem!  —  give  me  strength! 
Kmlora!  canst  them  loose  these  manly  hands? 
These  hands  wrcak'd  vengeance  for  myself  and  thec! 
Oh!  Darby!  thou  hast  caused  poor  Conrad's  death! 
Oh!  for  the  carrol  of  some  heavenly  bird! 
Sweet  nightingale!  thou  hast  complain'd  so  long! 
Sing  on,  sad  bird!  for  thou  shalt  sing  no  more!    [H't 

£uJ.  Thou  hast  redecm'd  me  unto  death  with  tlice! 

Co/i.  The  same  kind  deed  thou  would'st  have  done 
for  me  ! 

Eud.  To  live  without  thcc,  would  he  living  death!— 
To  die  with  thec,  would  be  eternal  life!— 
The  sweetest  death  that  ever  mortal  died! 
As  thou  'vert  with  me,  in  mine  hour  of  pain, 
Bo  will  I  nurse  thec  in  the  lap  of  death!  [Embrace*. 

As  I  have  been  thy  pathway  to  the  tomb, 
So  will  I  light  thcc  through  its  darkest  shades! 
As  thou  lost  been  my  brother,  father,  friend! 
Then,  let  us  die!  absolved  of  two  great  pangs— 
The  foes  of  virtue,  and  the  traitor's  fangs. 
Hark!  1  hear  the  watchman  cry,  'tis  morn! 

Con.  Tticn  let  it  come!  these  hands  may  then  be  free! 
The  greatest  load  that  ever  mortal  bore  !— 
Eudora!  gentlest  of  revengeful  loves! 
Look  up  to  heaven,  and  smile  —  rejoice,  my  love? 
As  I  am  thine,  then,  all  thy  will  is  mine! 
This  life  is  thine,  for  thou  art  in  this  life! 
At  1  am  lost  in  thcc,  so  am  I  found! 


OB,  Tft  DKATR  OP  AtOKZO.  79 

Hark!— hark!— the  £uard  is  at  the  door— tis  done!        / 

(Drum  beat*. 
This  morn,  we  part?  and  we  shall  meet  DO  more! 

Eud.  I  have  a  talc.to  tell,  too  sweet  for  that  / 

Twould  send  an  unthcm  through  thy  t>oul — part?  part? 
Hast  tliou  not  known. Kudora's  hearty  this  while.'— 
Oh!  'tis  too  deep  to  fathom,  in  this  world! 
Here  is  one  chapter  thou  hast  never  read!— 

[Show*  him  a  phial  of  poison. 

Look  here! — dost  thou  not  sec  this  precious  balm!— 
This  was  an  angel's  gift! — 'twill  couch  ull  pain! 
Through  ull  the  fibres  of  thy  manly  heart, 
Send  sleep!  immortal  sleep!  send  -night! — (Lark  night! 
And  wake  thy  morrow  in  another  world!     [Fall*  on  him. 
Con.  Oh!  Eudora!  poor  Eucbra!  Conrad's  wife! 

[Embrace*  Ktr. 

Thy  heart  is  strong — thy  precious  soul  is  wide! 
These  hands  are  bound,  else  I  would  By  to  thee. 

Eud.  What  I  imbibe,  the  same  is  sweet  to  thee, 
Though  'twere  a  clialice,  teeming  o'er  with  galL 
This  little  friend  I'll  keep,  if  that  should  fail. 

[Showa  him  a  digger,  which  *ht  procured,  to  kiO  them, 

if  the  poison  should  fail. 

Con.  Oh!  Rudora! — 'twill  drowse  away  this  life! 
Then,  we  nm»t  sleep,  ami  thou,  within  these  arms! 
Eud.  'Twas  for  that  purpose  that  1  brought  it  here! 
Con.  One  short  hour  more,  Kudora?  and  we  parti 
Eud.  Part? — never!  never!  on  this  side  the  grave! 
This  is  the  marriage  banquet  of  our  loves! 
Drink  thou  one  half,  und  I  the  rest — then,  peace! 

[He  takfM  the  phial  and  drinks  one  half. 
Thou  hast  not  known  me  yet — kind  woman's  love! 
This  world  hath  never  known  fond  woman's  love!     . 
This  is  the  place  that  lesson  shall  be  taught! 
That,  he,  who  has  a  wife,  may  think  on  mc< 
And  love  her,  that  her  love  is  woman's  love! 
'Tis  that  which  makes  her  fear,  till  tempests  rage! 
Then,  deepest  seas  roll  high  with  loftiest  wavcst 
Hut  let  the  storm  be  calm— and  all  is  love!— 
Ye,  who  have  wives,  think  on  Kudoni's  love! 
Love  Conrad's  wife!  and  wish  Kudora  thine! 

Con.  Hark!  the  sounding  drum!  my  time  if  cornel 


80  coxryAD  AKD  KTJDOBA;    . 

§ 

Eud.  Then- come,  iwcct  antidote!— come,  cure  all 

pain! 
Now,  will  1  drink  my  put,  ami  die  with  thcel— 

[Drink*.  tDrawi  the  dagger. 
But  one  more  rite!— if  that  expcdi<fi\J  fil, 
This  never  shall! — 'tit  well  to  have  two  friends! 
I  know  thit  world— one,  true  or  false,  may  fail! 
warm  with  that  which  it  shall  turn  to  ice!— 

(Feels  the  dagger. 

,  twilight  visions  gather  round  my  soul, 
.And  gentle  slumber  weighs  me  down  to  night! 
Dork,  angel!  make  existence  night!  come  down!— 

[They  lit  down  in  each  other*  arm*, 

SCEftE  II.— wf  itrtet  in  Frmdfurt,  where  the  guard 
atseinllet. 

Enter  Officer  and  guard. 
Offieer.  We  have  our  duty  to  perform  at  three. 
Surround  the  prisoner  at  the  j;ii!  '    .^  itand— • 
You  mav  proceed,  and  I  will  mec~ypu  there. 
Be  resolute!— he  may  have  £rieD<J|  at  hand. 

[Exeunt  <mne*< 

SCENE  HI.— Jail,  at  before.     Conrad  and  Eudorm  tleep. 

inf.    (Drutu  beat*.)    Eudbra  wakt*  and  took*  round 

*t  M 
wildly. 

Eud>  "Where  am  If  Conrad? — am  I  not  in  heaven? 
This  can't  be  heaven!  else  Conr&d  would  be  here! 
Oh!  give  me  wings  that  I  may -ftf  to  Uice! 
Thou  art  not  here?— -Uien  I  will  not  be  there! — 

[Drumbeat* 

I  hear  a  sound! — there  are  no  sounds  in  heaven! 
There,  angels  sing! — there  angels'  songs  are  heard! 
I  am  not  there,  else  Conrad,  too,  would  sing!        [Drum, 
Where!  where  am  I,  then!— oh!  Conrad!  come!  come!— » 

[l\et»  round. 

Oh!  Conrad!  Conrad! — spirits!  take  me  home! 
Away  to  Conrad's  home !  [FulU  on  hit  brctut,  and  he  wuktt, 

Con.  Eudora! —  [S/ic  rauten  her  head, 

£ud.  Where!  where  U  that  voice? 


OK,  «H1  DBATB  OP  ALONlCt  81 

* 

Con.  Kmlora'— love'— 

Eud.  Oh!  tweet  Conrad!  thou  art  here!  [Embraet*  Aim. 
Co*.  Ktidora!— 1!»  too  dark  for  heaven— til  hell! 
£ud.  Wilt  then* remain? 
.  Con.  EudoraJ^ift  thou  stay? 
Do  thou  but  stay,  tml  I'll  remain— 'tis  death! 
Tia  that  dark  vale  through  which  we  pan  to  heaven! 
W«  are  not  dead  until  we  past  that  shade! 
Not  dead  to  life,  to  earth— alive  to  heaven  *  [Drum 
Eud.   Rise,  Conrad!  rue  and  sec!— 'tis  dark! 

dark!  [Dru». 

Con.    Hark!— the    drum!— -where    are   we?— not   in 
heaven ! — hark !  ( /  V?/»  round  and  look*  up. 

The  guard!  the  drum! — Eudora's* love  is  gone! 
Eud.  No!— 1  had  lost  my  soul— I  have  it  now! 

[Strike*  her  forehead. 

Jailor  make*  a  noi*e  at  the  door  without. 
Con.  Be  still,  F.udora.  [Draw  her  dagger. 

Hold!   thou  canst  not  kill >      . 

Eud.  Too  wcuk?~*'lion  has  not  strength  like  this! 

'•**  %^'  [Raue*  her  dagger. 

Too  weak! — tlie   strength  of  death,   too  weak*— now 

peace! 

Con,  Hark !  too  weak !  they  come !  they  come !— strike ! 

strike  deep !—  [Nhe  *tab»  Aim,  and  he  fall*. 

Eud.  His  blood's  upon  the  blade — now  meet  mine  own* 

[Stabs  her  &ejf  and  falls.     Jailor  and  guard  enter. 

Jailor.    Heavens!    guard,  what  a  sight!— Took!  look! 

behold!— 

The  groans  we  heard,  %ere  murder!  they  are  dead! 
Her  soul's  with  his — arid  both  their  hearts  arc  dead! 
Guard.  What*  dead!— Conrad  dead?  IcU  see — dead?— 

he  breathes! 
Jailor.  Here  is  the  dagger — buried  in  her  heart! 

[J'ull*  it  out. 
8co  if  he's  dead!  see  if  he's  cold! — has  pulse.  [Feel*  her*. 

Eud.  O— — O O!  Conrad!  [Die*, 

Con.  Farewell,  Kudora! 

Guard.  Conrad  speaks! — he  still  has  pulse!        [Feel*, 
Jailor.    Here  is  the  wound!  the  wound!  she's  dead! 
she's  dead! 


62  COK1AD  A!fD  ErDORA;     f 

Con.  The  wound!  the  wound!  give  roe  my  wife!  my 
wife! 

[  They  phot  her  on  the  l#<1,  ond  %e  struggle*  to  rite. 
She  was  too  tender!    Oh!  she  could  not  kill! 

[Ttuy  bear  htm  to  her. 

Where  is  her  pulse  > — her  soul  *  'tis  £oae !  my  wife ! 
Now,  1  have  lost  my  wife!  Eudora's  gone! 
Kiuloru!  speak !— oh!  speak,  my  love!— oh!  death! 
Where  U  that  dagger?  strike  mic!  kill  me  dead! 
%>>t*e\  me  go  with  poor  Kudnra!  strike!  strike!-— 

Offictr.  We  must  obey  tl»e  law— you  must  be  hung1* 
Con.  Give  me  xuy  wife!  help!  oh!  heaven!  help!  my 

wife! — 
[  77iry  bear  him  out  to  the  gallowt,  and  the  curtain  falls. 


rmt  BMB. 


ot  tftr 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


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PS1294 

Chivers,  T.H.  C4 

Conrad  and  Eudora.      C65 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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